A Navy Captain’s Brave Fight Against Coronavirus There’s no social distancing on an aircraft carrier, so an emergency stop was the right call.

[Denizen]

The Pentagon is punishing warship commanders for acting in the best interest of protecting human life by aborting military missions when coronavirus infects the crew.

The Pentagon has been hiding the effect of coronavirus on the military and it is likely that infections are accelerating because of Pentagon's inaction and valuing military missions ahead of the lives of their crews.

Could we see warships returning with large numbers of dead sailors?

A Navy Captain’s Brave Fight Against Coronavirus

A Navy Captain’s Brave Fight Against Coronavirus
There’s no social distancing on an aircraft carrier, so an emergency stop was the right call.

By James Stavridis
April 1, 2020, 11:24 PM GMT+7

I have been a ship captain, a commodore in charge of a group of destroyers, and an admiral in command of a carrier strike group with a nuclear aircraft carrier, the USS Enterprise. In the course of my career, I made many hard choices at sea in both peace and combat — but I never faced the kind of hard choice that the captain of the carrier USS Theodore Roosevelt, Brett Crozier, just had to make.

Faced with the coronavirus sweeping through his 5,000-sailor crew, he reached out to his chain of command and requested permission to abort his assigned mission patrolling the Pacific and South China Sea, and come to all stop at Guam to disinfect his ship and save his crew from unnecessary medical risks. How should we evaluate his actions in the face of an invisible but deadly foe?

Let’s start by understanding what life on a Navy warship is like. Think of the kitchen in a suburban home — a fairly nice sized one with an island and granite counters. That’s about the size of most Navy “berthing compartments,” the bunk room where the sailors sleep. In that space, a dozen sailors each have a tight single bunk bed and a small locker to store their clothes. They will share a shower, a couple of sinks and a commode or two.

When the sailors queue up for meals, it is a long human line, snaking down a tight corridor, with everyone packed together on one side to allow people to pass to and from their assigned stations. Even the watch stations on the bridge and in the combat information center have everyone seated shoulder to shoulder.

It is the exact opposite of the social distancing civilians have rightly been asked to practice. The 18th century wit Samuel Johnson said of Britain’s Royal Navy that serving in a warship is like “is being in jail, with the chance of being drowned.” Life on a Navy ship isn’t as bad as jail, of course, but you get the idea.

So those berthing compartments, unfortunately, have become “birthing compartments,” as in birthing the coronavirus. When Crozier first heard he had a few cases, he must have felt his heart skip a beat, as the odds were high that many, many more cases were already circulating through the crew. Very shortly, he had 20 cases, then 50, then 100. His physicians, consulting with the Navy medical establishment ashore, would no doubt have recommended doing all the things that were tried on cruise ships — isolating the sick, treating them as best they could (even a carrier has only a handful of medical personnel onboard), spreading out everyone else, and testing as many as possible.

The problem, of course, is that unlike a cruise liner — where passengers can hunker down in their own stateroom — those berthing compartments, chow lines and watch stations were designed for close-quarter contact. And to make it worse, everybody is sitting on a nuclear reactor that is loaded with jet fuel, high-grade explosives, bombs and missiles.

Crozier certainly knows that the mission comes first. And in his heartfelt letter, he acknowledged that if we were in a war, he would simply do the best he could, hope most of the infected had only mild symptoms, and go to the fight weakened but hopefully operational. But the USS Theodore Roosevelt was not headed to war, a circumstance in which the health of the force has to come first. In this case, the extraordinary choice was to evacuate the crew (all but the 10% needed to run the reactor and disinfect the ship) and keep the ship parked in Guam for at least two weeks. ...

 

[JGalt]

The Pentagon is punishing warship commanders for acting in the best interest of protecting human life by aborting military missions when coronavirus infects the crew.

The Pentagon has been hiding the effect of coronavirus on the military and it is likely that infections are accelerating because of Pentagon's inaction and valuing military missions ahead of the lives of their crews.

Could we see warships returning with large numbers of dead sailors?

A Navy Captain’s Brave Fight Against Coronavirus

A Navy Captain’s Brave Fight Against Coronavirus
There’s no social distancing on an aircraft carrier, so an emergency stop was the right call.

By James Stavridis
April 1, 2020, 11:24 PM GMT+7

I have been a ship captain, a commodore in charge of a group of destroyers, and an admiral in command of a carrier strike group with a nuclear aircraft carrier, the USS Enterprise. In the course of my career, I made many hard choices at sea in both peace and combat — but I never faced the kind of hard choice that the captain of the carrier USS Theodore Roosevelt, Brett Crozier, just had to make.

Faced with the coronavirus sweeping through his 5,000-sailor crew, he reached out to his chain of command and requested permission to abort his assigned mission patrolling the Pacific and South China Sea, and come to all stop at Guam to disinfect his ship and save his crew from unnecessary medical risks. How should we evaluate his actions in the face of an invisible but deadly foe?

Let’s start by understanding what life on a Navy warship is like. Think of the kitchen in a suburban home — a fairly nice sized one with an island and granite counters. That’s about the size of most Navy “berthing compartments,” the bunk room where the sailors sleep. In that space, a dozen sailors each have a tight single bunk bed and a small locker to store their clothes. They will share a shower, a couple of sinks and a commode or two.

When the sailors queue up for meals, it is a long human line, snaking down a tight corridor, with everyone packed together on one side to allow people to pass to and from their assigned stations. Even the watch stations on the bridge and in the combat information center have everyone seated shoulder to shoulder.

It is the exact opposite of the social distancing civilians have rightly been asked to practice. The 18th century wit Samuel Johnson said of Britain’s Royal Navy that serving in a warship is like “is being in jail, with the chance of being drowned.” Life on a Navy ship isn’t as bad as jail, of course, but you get the idea.

So those berthing compartments, unfortunately, have become “birthing compartments,” as in birthing the coronavirus. When Crozier first heard he had a few cases, he must have felt his heart skip a beat, as the odds were high that many, many more cases were already circulating through the crew. Very shortly, he had 20 cases, then 50, then 100. His physicians, consulting with the Navy medical establishment ashore, would no doubt have recommended doing all the things that were tried on cruise ships — isolating the sick, treating them as best they could (even a carrier has only a handful of medical personnel onboard), spreading out everyone else, and testing as many as possible.

The problem, of course, is that unlike a cruise liner — where passengers can hunker down in their own stateroom — those berthing compartments, chow lines and watch stations were designed for close-quarter contact. And to make it worse, everybody is sitting on a nuclear reactor that is loaded with jet fuel, high-grade explosives, bombs and missiles.

Crozier certainly knows that the mission comes first. And in his heartfelt letter, he acknowledged that if we were in a war, he would simply do the best he could, hope most of the infected had only mild symptoms, and go to the fight weakened but hopefully operational. But the USS Theodore Roosevelt was not headed to war, a circumstance in which the health of the force has to come first. In this case, the extraordinary choice was to evacuate the crew (all but the 10% needed to run the reactor and disinfect the ship) and keep the ship parked in Guam for at least two weeks. ...

Your personal comment was deceptive and in no way did the article substantiate your allegations. There was nothing in the article about the Pentagon punishing warship commanders, hiding the effect of coronavirus on the military, or being negligent in looking out for the lives of military crews.

Of course, the story you linked was from the Communist Chinese-sympathetic Bloomberg News, so I'm sure they'd like to thank you for spreading Chinese propaganda.

 

[Hossfly]

The Pentagon is punishing warship commanders for acting in the best interest of protecting human life by aborting military missions when coronavirus infects the crew.

The Pentagon has been hiding the effect of coronavirus on the military and it is likely that infections are accelerating because of Pentagon's inaction and valuing military missions ahead of the lives of their crews.

Could we see warships returning with large numbers of dead sailors?

A Navy Captain’s Brave Fight Against Coronavirus

A Navy Captain’s Brave Fight Against Coronavirus
There’s no social distancing on an aircraft carrier, so an emergency stop was the right call.

By James Stavridis
April 1, 2020, 11:24 PM GMT+7

I have been a ship captain, a commodore in charge of a group of destroyers, and an admiral in command of a carrier strike group with a nuclear aircraft carrier, the USS Enterprise. In the course of my career, I made many hard choices at sea in both peace and combat — but I never faced the kind of hard choice that the captain of the carrier USS Theodore Roosevelt, Brett Crozier, just had to make.

Faced with the coronavirus sweeping through his 5,000-sailor crew, he reached out to his chain of command and requested permission to abort his assigned mission patrolling the Pacific and South China Sea, and come to all stop at Guam to disinfect his ship and save his crew from unnecessary medical risks. How should we evaluate his actions in the face of an invisible but deadly foe?

Let’s start by understanding what life on a Navy warship is like. Think of the kitchen in a suburban home — a fairly nice sized one with an island and granite counters. That’s about the size of most Navy “berthing compartments,” the bunk room where the sailors sleep. In that space, a dozen sailors each have a tight single bunk bed and a small locker to store their clothes. They will share a shower, a couple of sinks and a commode or two.

When the sailors queue up for meals, it is a long human line, snaking down a tight corridor, with everyone packed together on one side to allow people to pass to and from their assigned stations. Even the watch stations on the bridge and in the combat information center have everyone seated shoulder to shoulder.

It is the exact opposite of the social distancing civilians have rightly been asked to practice. The 18th century wit Samuel Johnson said of Britain’s Royal Navy that serving in a warship is like “is being in jail, with the chance of being drowned.” Life on a Navy ship isn’t as bad as jail, of course, but you get the idea.

So those berthing compartments, unfortunately, have become “birthing compartments,” as in birthing the coronavirus. When Crozier first heard he had a few cases, he must have felt his heart skip a beat, as the odds were high that many, many more cases were already circulating through the crew. Very shortly, he had 20 cases, then 50, then 100. His physicians, consulting with the Navy medical establishment ashore, would no doubt have recommended doing all the things that were tried on cruise ships — isolating the sick, treating them as best they could (even a carrier has only a handful of medical personnel onboard), spreading out everyone else, and testing as many as possible.

The problem, of course, is that unlike a cruise liner — where passengers can hunker down in their own stateroom — those berthing compartments, chow lines and watch stations were designed for close-quarter contact. And to make it worse, everybody is sitting on a nuclear reactor that is loaded with jet fuel, high-grade explosives, bombs and missiles.

Crozier certainly knows that the mission comes first. And in his heartfelt letter, he acknowledged that if we were in a war, he would simply do the best he could, hope most of the infected had only mild symptoms, and go to the fight weakened but hopefully operational. But the USS Theodore Roosevelt was not headed to war, a circumstance in which the health of the force has to come first. In this case, the extraordinary choice was to evacuate the crew (all but the 10% needed to run the reactor and disinfect the ship) and keep the ship parked in Guam for at least two weeks. ...

Even Navy captains have to go through their chain of command. The Navy Secretary and the CNO had plans in the works to take care of the problem. Instead the captain jumped the gun ruined his career.

 

[Denizen]

The Pentagon is punishing warship commanders for acting in the best interest of protecting human life by aborting military missions when coronavirus infects the crew.

The Pentagon has been hiding the effect of coronavirus on the military and it is likely that infections are accelerating because of Pentagon's inaction and valuing military missions ahead of the lives of their crews.

Could we see warships returning with large numbers of dead sailors?

A Navy Captain’s Brave Fight Against Coronavirus

A Navy Captain’s Brave Fight Against Coronavirus
There’s no social distancing on an aircraft carrier, so an emergency stop was the right call.

By James Stavridis
April 1, 2020, 11:24 PM GMT+7

I have been a ship captain, a commodore in charge of a group of destroyers, and an admiral in command of a carrier strike group with a nuclear aircraft carrier, the USS Enterprise. In the course of my career, I made many hard choices at sea in both peace and combat — but I never faced the kind of hard choice that the captain of the carrier USS Theodore Roosevelt, Brett Crozier, just had to make.

Faced with the coronavirus sweeping through his 5,000-sailor crew, he reached out to his chain of command and requested permission to abort his assigned mission patrolling the Pacific and South China Sea, and come to all stop at Guam to disinfect his ship and save his crew from unnecessary medical risks. How should we evaluate his actions in the face of an invisible but deadly foe?

Let’s start by understanding what life on a Navy warship is like. Think of the kitchen in a suburban home — a fairly nice sized one with an island and granite counters. That’s about the size of most Navy “berthing compartments,” the bunk room where the sailors sleep. In that space, a dozen sailors each have a tight single bunk bed and a small locker to store their clothes. They will share a shower, a couple of sinks and a commode or two.

When the sailors queue up for meals, it is a long human line, snaking down a tight corridor, with everyone packed together on one side to allow people to pass to and from their assigned stations. Even the watch stations on the bridge and in the combat information center have everyone seated shoulder to shoulder.

It is the exact opposite of the social distancing civilians have rightly been asked to practice. The 18th century wit Samuel Johnson said of Britain’s Royal Navy that serving in a warship is like “is being in jail, with the chance of being drowned.” Life on a Navy ship isn’t as bad as jail, of course, but you get the idea.

So those berthing compartments, unfortunately, have become “birthing compartments,” as in birthing the coronavirus. When Crozier first heard he had a few cases, he must have felt his heart skip a beat, as the odds were high that many, many more cases were already circulating through the crew. Very shortly, he had 20 cases, then 50, then 100. His physicians, consulting with the Navy medical establishment ashore, would no doubt have recommended doing all the things that were tried on cruise ships — isolating the sick, treating them as best they could (even a carrier has only a handful of medical personnel onboard), spreading out everyone else, and testing as many as possible.

The problem, of course, is that unlike a cruise liner — where passengers can hunker down in their own stateroom — those berthing compartments, chow lines and watch stations were designed for close-quarter contact. And to make it worse, everybody is sitting on a nuclear reactor that is loaded with jet fuel, high-grade explosives, bombs and missiles.

Crozier certainly knows that the mission comes first. And in his heartfelt letter, he acknowledged that if we were in a war, he would simply do the best he could, hope most of the infected had only mild symptoms, and go to the fight weakened but hopefully operational. But the USS Theodore Roosevelt was not headed to war, a circumstance in which the health of the force has to come first. In this case, the extraordinary choice was to evacuate the crew (all but the 10% needed to run the reactor and disinfect the ship) and keep the ship parked in Guam for at least two weeks. ...

Your personal comment was deceptive and in no way did the article substantiate your allegations. There was nothing in the article about the Pentagon punishing warship commanders, hiding the effect of coronavirus on the military, or being negligent in looking out for the lives of military crews.

Of course, the story you linked was from the Communist Chinese-sympathetic Bloomberg News, so I'm sure they'd like to thank you for spreading Chinese propaganda.

Please don't thank me for attempting to dispel your ignorance which is a Herculean task.

 

[Contumacious]

The Pentagon is punishing warship commanders for acting in the best interest of protecting human life by aborting military missions when coronavirus infects the crew.

The Pentagon has been hiding the effect of coronavirus on the military and it is likely that infections are accelerating because of Pentagon's inaction and valuing military missions ahead of the lives of their crews.

Could we see warships returning with large numbers of dead sailors?

A Navy Captain’s Brave Fight Against Coronavirus

A Navy Captain’s Brave Fight Against Coronavirus
There’s no social distancing on an aircraft carrier, so an emergency stop was the right call.

By James Stavridis
April 1, 2020, 11:24 PM GMT+7

I have been a ship captain, a commodore in charge of a group of destroyers, and an admiral in command of a carrier strike group with a nuclear aircraft carrier, the USS Enterprise. In the course of my career, I made many hard choices at sea in both peace and combat — but I never faced the kind of hard choice that the captain of the carrier USS Theodore Roosevelt, Brett Crozier, just had to make.

Faced with the coronavirus sweeping through his 5,000-sailor crew, he reached out to his chain of command and requested permission to abort his assigned mission patrolling the Pacific and South China Sea, and come to all stop at Guam to disinfect his ship and save his crew from unnecessary medical risks. How should we evaluate his actions in the face of an invisible but deadly foe?

Let’s start by understanding what life on a Navy warship is like. Think of the kitchen in a suburban home — a fairly nice sized one with an island and granite counters. That’s about the size of most Navy “berthing compartments,” the bunk room where the sailors sleep. In that space, a dozen sailors each have a tight single bunk bed and a small locker to store their clothes. They will share a shower, a couple of sinks and a commode or two.

When the sailors queue up for meals, it is a long human line, snaking down a tight corridor, with everyone packed together on one side to allow people to pass to and from their assigned stations. Even the watch stations on the bridge and in the combat information center have everyone seated shoulder to shoulder.

It is the exact opposite of the social distancing civilians have rightly been asked to practice. The 18th century wit Samuel Johnson said of Britain’s Royal Navy that serving in a warship is like “is being in jail, with the chance of being drowned.” Life on a Navy ship isn’t as bad as jail, of course, but you get the idea.

So those berthing compartments, unfortunately, have become “birthing compartments,” as in birthing the coronavirus. When Crozier first heard he had a few cases, he must have felt his heart skip a beat, as the odds were high that many, many more cases were already circulating through the crew. Very shortly, he had 20 cases, then 50, then 100. His physicians, consulting with the Navy medical establishment ashore, would no doubt have recommended doing all the things that were tried on cruise ships — isolating the sick, treating them as best they could (even a carrier has only a handful of medical personnel onboard), spreading out everyone else, and testing as many as possible.

The problem, of course, is that unlike a cruise liner — where passengers can hunker down in their own stateroom — those berthing compartments, chow lines and watch stations were designed for close-quarter contact. And to make it worse, everybody is sitting on a nuclear reactor that is loaded with jet fuel, high-grade explosives, bombs and missiles.

Crozier certainly knows that the mission comes first. And in his heartfelt letter, he acknowledged that if we were in a war, he would simply do the best he could, hope most of the infected had only mild symptoms, and go to the fight weakened but hopefully operational. But the USS Theodore Roosevelt was not headed to war, a circumstance in which the health of the force has to come first. In this case, the extraordinary choice was to evacuate the crew (all but the 10% needed to run the reactor and disinfect the ship) and keep the ship parked in Guam for at least two weeks. ...

We know that Navy Commanders are typically sycophants , yes men, who closely adhere to the chain of command, So WHY did Captain Crozier felt compelled to contact the San Francisco Chronicle?

The question is did the Pentagon use his ship to transport the weaponized coravid-19?

Very unusual for 100 young sailors to show symptoms of coravid-19 infection.

So who in the Pentagon is going to be locked up forever ?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?


.

 

[White 6]

The Pentagon is punishing warship commanders for acting in the best interest of protecting human life by aborting military missions when coronavirus infects the crew.

The Pentagon has been hiding the effect of coronavirus on the military and it is likely that infections are accelerating because of Pentagon's inaction and valuing military missions ahead of the lives of their crews.

Could we see warships returning with large numbers of dead sailors?

A Navy Captain’s Brave Fight Against Coronavirus

A Navy Captain’s Brave Fight Against Coronavirus
There’s no social distancing on an aircraft carrier, so an emergency stop was the right call.

By James Stavridis
April 1, 2020, 11:24 PM GMT+7

I have been a ship captain, a commodore in charge of a group of destroyers, and an admiral in command of a carrier strike group with a nuclear aircraft carrier, the USS Enterprise. In the course of my career, I made many hard choices at sea in both peace and combat — but I never faced the kind of hard choice that the captain of the carrier USS Theodore Roosevelt, Brett Crozier, just had to make.

Faced with the coronavirus sweeping through his 5,000-sailor crew, he reached out to his chain of command and requested permission to abort his assigned mission patrolling the Pacific and South China Sea, and come to all stop at Guam to disinfect his ship and save his crew from unnecessary medical risks. How should we evaluate his actions in the face of an invisible but deadly foe?

Let’s start by understanding what life on a Navy warship is like. Think of the kitchen in a suburban home — a fairly nice sized one with an island and granite counters. That’s about the size of most Navy “berthing compartments,” the bunk room where the sailors sleep. In that space, a dozen sailors each have a tight single bunk bed and a small locker to store their clothes. They will share a shower, a couple of sinks and a commode or two.

When the sailors queue up for meals, it is a long human line, snaking down a tight corridor, with everyone packed together on one side to allow people to pass to and from their assigned stations. Even the watch stations on the bridge and in the combat information center have everyone seated shoulder to shoulder.

It is the exact opposite of the social distancing civilians have rightly been asked to practice. The 18th century wit Samuel Johnson said of Britain’s Royal Navy that serving in a warship is like “is being in jail, with the chance of being drowned.” Life on a Navy ship isn’t as bad as jail, of course, but you get the idea.

So those berthing compartments, unfortunately, have become “birthing compartments,” as in birthing the coronavirus. When Crozier first heard he had a few cases, he must have felt his heart skip a beat, as the odds were high that many, many more cases were already circulating through the crew. Very shortly, he had 20 cases, then 50, then 100. His physicians, consulting with the Navy medical establishment ashore, would no doubt have recommended doing all the things that were tried on cruise ships — isolating the sick, treating them as best they could (even a carrier has only a handful of medical personnel onboard), spreading out everyone else, and testing as many as possible.

The problem, of course, is that unlike a cruise liner — where passengers can hunker down in their own stateroom — those berthing compartments, chow lines and watch stations were designed for close-quarter contact. And to make it worse, everybody is sitting on a nuclear reactor that is loaded with jet fuel, high-grade explosives, bombs and missiles.

Crozier certainly knows that the mission comes first. And in his heartfelt letter, he acknowledged that if we were in a war, he would simply do the best he could, hope most of the infected had only mild symptoms, and go to the fight weakened but hopefully operational. But the USS Theodore Roosevelt was not headed to war, a circumstance in which the health of the force has to come first. In this case, the extraordinary choice was to evacuate the crew (all but the 10% needed to run the reactor and disinfect the ship) and keep the ship parked in Guam for at least two weeks. ...

Even Navy captains have to go through their chain of command. The Navy Secretary and the CNO had plans in the works to take care of the problem. Instead the captain jumped the gun ruined his career.

Sending letter on letterhead to SF chronicle is worst breach of OPSEC by commander of a strategic asset I have ever heard of.

 

[Denizen]

The Pentagon is punishing warship commanders for acting in the best interest of protecting human life by aborting military missions when coronavirus infects the crew.

The Pentagon has been hiding the effect of coronavirus on the military and it is likely that infections are accelerating because of Pentagon's inaction and valuing military missions ahead of the lives of their crews.

Could we see warships returning with large numbers of dead sailors?

A Navy Captain’s Brave Fight Against Coronavirus

A Navy Captain’s Brave Fight Against Coronavirus
There’s no social distancing on an aircraft carrier, so an emergency stop was the right call.

By James Stavridis
April 1, 2020, 11:24 PM GMT+7

I have been a ship captain, a commodore in charge of a group of destroyers, and an admiral in command of a carrier strike group with a nuclear aircraft carrier, the USS Enterprise. In the course of my career, I made many hard choices at sea in both peace and combat — but I never faced the kind of hard choice that the captain of the carrier USS Theodore Roosevelt, Brett Crozier, just had to make.

Faced with the coronavirus sweeping through his 5,000-sailor crew, he reached out to his chain of command and requested permission to abort his assigned mission patrolling the Pacific and South China Sea, and come to all stop at Guam to disinfect his ship and save his crew from unnecessary medical risks. How should we evaluate his actions in the face of an invisible but deadly foe?

Let’s start by understanding what life on a Navy warship is like. Think of the kitchen in a suburban home — a fairly nice sized one with an island and granite counters. That’s about the size of most Navy “berthing compartments,” the bunk room where the sailors sleep. In that space, a dozen sailors each have a tight single bunk bed and a small locker to store their clothes. They will share a shower, a couple of sinks and a commode or two.

When the sailors queue up for meals, it is a long human line, snaking down a tight corridor, with everyone packed together on one side to allow people to pass to and from their assigned stations. Even the watch stations on the bridge and in the combat information center have everyone seated shoulder to shoulder.

It is the exact opposite of the social distancing civilians have rightly been asked to practice. The 18th century wit Samuel Johnson said of Britain’s Royal Navy that serving in a warship is like “is being in jail, with the chance of being drowned.” Life on a Navy ship isn’t as bad as jail, of course, but you get the idea.

So those berthing compartments, unfortunately, have become “birthing compartments,” as in birthing the coronavirus. When Crozier first heard he had a few cases, he must have felt his heart skip a beat, as the odds were high that many, many more cases were already circulating through the crew. Very shortly, he had 20 cases, then 50, then 100. His physicians, consulting with the Navy medical establishment ashore, would no doubt have recommended doing all the things that were tried on cruise ships — isolating the sick, treating them as best they could (even a carrier has only a handful of medical personnel onboard), spreading out everyone else, and testing as many as possible.

The problem, of course, is that unlike a cruise liner — where passengers can hunker down in their own stateroom — those berthing compartments, chow lines and watch stations were designed for close-quarter contact. And to make it worse, everybody is sitting on a nuclear reactor that is loaded with jet fuel, high-grade explosives, bombs and missiles.

Crozier certainly knows that the mission comes first. And in his heartfelt letter, he acknowledged that if we were in a war, he would simply do the best he could, hope most of the infected had only mild symptoms, and go to the fight weakened but hopefully operational. But the USS Theodore Roosevelt was not headed to war, a circumstance in which the health of the force has to come first. In this case, the extraordinary choice was to evacuate the crew (all but the 10% needed to run the reactor and disinfect the ship) and keep the ship parked in Guam for at least two weeks. ...

Even Navy captains have to go through their chain of command. The Navy Secretary and the CNO had plans in the works to take care of the problem. Instead the captain jumped the gun ruined his career.

Sending letter on letterhead to SF chronicle is worst breach of OPSEC by commander of a strategic asset I have ever heard of.

Allowing people under the Captain's command to die needlessly is worse.

 

[White 6]

The Pentagon is punishing warship commanders for acting in the best interest of protecting human life by aborting military missions when coronavirus infects the crew.

The Pentagon has been hiding the effect of coronavirus on the military and it is likely that infections are accelerating because of Pentagon's inaction and valuing military missions ahead of the lives of their crews.

Could we see warships returning with large numbers of dead sailors?

A Navy Captain’s Brave Fight Against Coronavirus

A Navy Captain’s Brave Fight Against Coronavirus
There’s no social distancing on an aircraft carrier, so an emergency stop was the right call.

By James Stavridis
April 1, 2020, 11:24 PM GMT+7

I have been a ship captain, a commodore in charge of a group of destroyers, and an admiral in command of a carrier strike group with a nuclear aircraft carrier, the USS Enterprise. In the course of my career, I made many hard choices at sea in both peace and combat — but I never faced the kind of hard choice that the captain of the carrier USS Theodore Roosevelt, Brett Crozier, just had to make.

Faced with the coronavirus sweeping through his 5,000-sailor crew, he reached out to his chain of command and requested permission to abort his assigned mission patrolling the Pacific and South China Sea, and come to all stop at Guam to disinfect his ship and save his crew from unnecessary medical risks. How should we evaluate his actions in the face of an invisible but deadly foe?

Let’s start by understanding what life on a Navy warship is like. Think of the kitchen in a suburban home — a fairly nice sized one with an island and granite counters. That’s about the size of most Navy “berthing compartments,” the bunk room where the sailors sleep. In that space, a dozen sailors each have a tight single bunk bed and a small locker to store their clothes. They will share a shower, a couple of sinks and a commode or two.

When the sailors queue up for meals, it is a long human line, snaking down a tight corridor, with everyone packed together on one side to allow people to pass to and from their assigned stations. Even the watch stations on the bridge and in the combat information center have everyone seated shoulder to shoulder.

It is the exact opposite of the social distancing civilians have rightly been asked to practice. The 18th century wit Samuel Johnson said of Britain’s Royal Navy that serving in a warship is like “is being in jail, with the chance of being drowned.” Life on a Navy ship isn’t as bad as jail, of course, but you get the idea.

So those berthing compartments, unfortunately, have become “birthing compartments,” as in birthing the coronavirus. When Crozier first heard he had a few cases, he must have felt his heart skip a beat, as the odds were high that many, many more cases were already circulating through the crew. Very shortly, he had 20 cases, then 50, then 100. His physicians, consulting with the Navy medical establishment ashore, would no doubt have recommended doing all the things that were tried on cruise ships — isolating the sick, treating them as best they could (even a carrier has only a handful of medical personnel onboard), spreading out everyone else, and testing as many as possible.

The problem, of course, is that unlike a cruise liner — where passengers can hunker down in their own stateroom — those berthing compartments, chow lines and watch stations were designed for close-quarter contact. And to make it worse, everybody is sitting on a nuclear reactor that is loaded with jet fuel, high-grade explosives, bombs and missiles.

Crozier certainly knows that the mission comes first. And in his heartfelt letter, he acknowledged that if we were in a war, he would simply do the best he could, hope most of the infected had only mild symptoms, and go to the fight weakened but hopefully operational. But the USS Theodore Roosevelt was not headed to war, a circumstance in which the health of the force has to come first. In this case, the extraordinary choice was to evacuate the crew (all but the 10% needed to run the reactor and disinfect the ship) and keep the ship parked in Guam for at least two weeks. ...

Even Navy captains have to go through their chain of command. The Navy Secretary and the CNO had plans in the works to take care of the problem. Instead the captain jumped the gun ruined his career.

Sending letter on letterhead to SF chronicle is worst breach of OPSEC by commander of a strategic asset I have ever heard of.

Allowing people under the Captain's command to die needlessly is worse.

The captain of somebody under his command sent the captain's letter ( written/ signed 30 Mar) directly to SF Chronicle, appearing there and on this board on March 31. Tha t carrier is a strategic asset that had been on patrol. Operational readiness information was leaked to the public and all foreign intell / military. On a strategic asset that is not done, ever. Emergency S.O.S. If you are literally sinking beneath the waves, OK. But, signed letter on letter head deliberately leaked to the paper disclosing that kind of intelligence relating to readiness? Never. He has secure communication capability to communicate with higher command and virtually any command level above next higher command. Very serious breach. He's toast and should be. It is the way it has always been. It is the way it has to be. Get it?

 

[Lysistrata]

What else was this commander supposed to do when the leadership is incompetent and politically driven and he knows it, but he takes his responsibility to the people under his command seriously? Somebody who saw his letter leaked it, but this individual performed a very important public service.

 

[Denizen]

The Pentagon is punishing warship commanders for acting in the best interest of protecting human life by aborting military missions when coronavirus infects the crew.

The Pentagon has been hiding the effect of coronavirus on the military and it is likely that infections are accelerating because of Pentagon's inaction and valuing military missions ahead of the lives of their crews.

Could we see warships returning with large numbers of dead sailors?

A Navy Captain’s Brave Fight Against Coronavirus

A Navy Captain’s Brave Fight Against Coronavirus
There’s no social distancing on an aircraft carrier, so an emergency stop was the right call.

By James Stavridis
April 1, 2020, 11:24 PM GMT+7

I have been a ship captain, a commodore in charge of a group of destroyers, and an admiral in command of a carrier strike group with a nuclear aircraft carrier, the USS Enterprise. In the course of my career, I made many hard choices at sea in both peace and combat — but I never faced the kind of hard choice that the captain of the carrier USS Theodore Roosevelt, Brett Crozier, just had to make.

Faced with the coronavirus sweeping through his 5,000-sailor crew, he reached out to his chain of command and requested permission to abort his assigned mission patrolling the Pacific and South China Sea, and come to all stop at Guam to disinfect his ship and save his crew from unnecessary medical risks. How should we evaluate his actions in the face of an invisible but deadly foe?

Let’s start by understanding what life on a Navy warship is like. Think of the kitchen in a suburban home — a fairly nice sized one with an island and granite counters. That’s about the size of most Navy “berthing compartments,” the bunk room where the sailors sleep. In that space, a dozen sailors each have a tight single bunk bed and a small locker to store their clothes. They will share a shower, a couple of sinks and a commode or two.

When the sailors queue up for meals, it is a long human line, snaking down a tight corridor, with everyone packed together on one side to allow people to pass to and from their assigned stations. Even the watch stations on the bridge and in the combat information center have everyone seated shoulder to shoulder.

It is the exact opposite of the social distancing civilians have rightly been asked to practice. The 18th century wit Samuel Johnson said of Britain’s Royal Navy that serving in a warship is like “is being in jail, with the chance of being drowned.” Life on a Navy ship isn’t as bad as jail, of course, but you get the idea.

So those berthing compartments, unfortunately, have become “birthing compartments,” as in birthing the coronavirus. When Crozier first heard he had a few cases, he must have felt his heart skip a beat, as the odds were high that many, many more cases were already circulating through the crew. Very shortly, he had 20 cases, then 50, then 100. His physicians, consulting with the Navy medical establishment ashore, would no doubt have recommended doing all the things that were tried on cruise ships — isolating the sick, treating them as best they could (even a carrier has only a handful of medical personnel onboard), spreading out everyone else, and testing as many as possible.

The problem, of course, is that unlike a cruise liner — where passengers can hunker down in their own stateroom — those berthing compartments, chow lines and watch stations were designed for close-quarter contact. And to make it worse, everybody is sitting on a nuclear reactor that is loaded with jet fuel, high-grade explosives, bombs and missiles.

Crozier certainly knows that the mission comes first. And in his heartfelt letter, he acknowledged that if we were in a war, he would simply do the best he could, hope most of the infected had only mild symptoms, and go to the fight weakened but hopefully operational. But the USS Theodore Roosevelt was not headed to war, a circumstance in which the health of the force has to come first. In this case, the extraordinary choice was to evacuate the crew (all but the 10% needed to run the reactor and disinfect the ship) and keep the ship parked in Guam for at least two weeks. ...

Even Navy captains have to go through their chain of command. The Navy Secretary and the CNO had plans in the works to take care of the problem. Instead the captain jumped the gun ruined his career.

Sending letter on letterhead to SF chronicle is worst breach of OPSEC by commander of a strategic asset I have ever heard of.

Allowing people under the Captain's command to die needlessly is worse.

The captain of somebody under his command sent the captain's letter ( written/ signed 30 Mar) directly to SF Chronicle, appearing there and on this board on March 31. Tha t carrier is a strategic asset that had been on patrol. Operational readiness information was leaked to the public and all foreign intell / military. On a strategic asset that is not done, ever. Emergency S.O.S. If you are literally sinking beneath the waves, OK. But, signed letter on letter head deliberately leaked to the paper disclosing that kind of intelligence relating to readiness? Never. He has secure communication capability to communicate with higher command and virtually any command level above next higher command. Very serious breach. He's toast and should be. It is the way it has always been. It is the way it has to be. Get it?

Perhaps Rear Admiral Jared Kushner, COVID-19 expert, will take over.

 

[Lysistrata]

The Pentagon is punishing warship commanders for acting in the best interest of protecting human life by aborting military missions when coronavirus infects the crew.

The Pentagon has been hiding the effect of coronavirus on the military and it is likely that infections are accelerating because of Pentagon's inaction and valuing military missions ahead of the lives of their crews.

Could we see warships returning with large numbers of dead sailors?

A Navy Captain’s Brave Fight Against Coronavirus

A Navy Captain’s Brave Fight Against Coronavirus
There’s no social distancing on an aircraft carrier, so an emergency stop was the right call.

By James Stavridis
April 1, 2020, 11:24 PM GMT+7

I have been a ship captain, a commodore in charge of a group of destroyers, and an admiral in command of a carrier strike group with a nuclear aircraft carrier, the USS Enterprise. In the course of my career, I made many hard choices at sea in both peace and combat — but I never faced the kind of hard choice that the captain of the carrier USS Theodore Roosevelt, Brett Crozier, just had to make.

Faced with the coronavirus sweeping through his 5,000-sailor crew, he reached out to his chain of command and requested permission to abort his assigned mission patrolling the Pacific and South China Sea, and come to all stop at Guam to disinfect his ship and save his crew from unnecessary medical risks. How should we evaluate his actions in the face of an invisible but deadly foe?

Let’s start by understanding what life on a Navy warship is like. Think of the kitchen in a suburban home — a fairly nice sized one with an island and granite counters. That’s about the size of most Navy “berthing compartments,” the bunk room where the sailors sleep. In that space, a dozen sailors each have a tight single bunk bed and a small locker to store their clothes. They will share a shower, a couple of sinks and a commode or two.

When the sailors queue up for meals, it is a long human line, snaking down a tight corridor, with everyone packed together on one side to allow people to pass to and from their assigned stations. Even the watch stations on the bridge and in the combat information center have everyone seated shoulder to shoulder.

It is the exact opposite of the social distancing civilians have rightly been asked to practice. The 18th century wit Samuel Johnson said of Britain’s Royal Navy that serving in a warship is like “is being in jail, with the chance of being drowned.” Life on a Navy ship isn’t as bad as jail, of course, but you get the idea.

So those berthing compartments, unfortunately, have become “birthing compartments,” as in birthing the coronavirus. When Crozier first heard he had a few cases, he must have felt his heart skip a beat, as the odds were high that many, many more cases were already circulating through the crew. Very shortly, he had 20 cases, then 50, then 100. His physicians, consulting with the Navy medical establishment ashore, would no doubt have recommended doing all the things that were tried on cruise ships — isolating the sick, treating them as best they could (even a carrier has only a handful of medical personnel onboard), spreading out everyone else, and testing as many as possible.

The problem, of course, is that unlike a cruise liner — where passengers can hunker down in their own stateroom — those berthing compartments, chow lines and watch stations were designed for close-quarter contact. And to make it worse, everybody is sitting on a nuclear reactor that is loaded with jet fuel, high-grade explosives, bombs and missiles.

Crozier certainly knows that the mission comes first. And in his heartfelt letter, he acknowledged that if we were in a war, he would simply do the best he could, hope most of the infected had only mild symptoms, and go to the fight weakened but hopefully operational. But the USS Theodore Roosevelt was not headed to war, a circumstance in which the health of the force has to come first. In this case, the extraordinary choice was to evacuate the crew (all but the 10% needed to run the reactor and disinfect the ship) and keep the ship parked in Guam for at least two weeks. ...

Even Navy captains have to go through their chain of command. The Navy Secretary and the CNO had plans in the works to take care of the problem. Instead the captain jumped the gun ruined his career.

Sending letter on letterhead to SF chronicle is worst breach of OPSEC by commander of a strategic asset I have ever heard of.

Allowing people under the Captain's command to die needlessly is worse.

The captain of somebody under his command sent the captain's letter ( written/ signed 30 Mar) directly to SF Chronicle, appearing there and on this board on March 31. Tha t carrier is a strategic asset that had been on patrol. Operational readiness information was leaked to the public and all foreign intell / military. On a strategic asset that is not done, ever. Emergency S.O.S. If you are literally sinking beneath the waves, OK. But, signed letter on letter head deliberately leaked to the paper disclosing that kind of intelligence relating to readiness? Never. He has secure communication capability to communicate with higher command and virtually any command level above next higher command. Very serious breach. He's toast and should be. It is the way it has always been. It is the way it has to be. Get it?

Perhaps Rear Admiral Jared Kushner, COVID-19 expert, will take over.

It's amazing how far one can get merely by sleeping with the "president's" daughter, who, herself, is such a genius. Jared must be GIB.

 

[Mac-7]

The Pentagon is punishing warship commanders for acting in the best interest of protecting human life by aborting military missions when coronavirus infects the crew.

The Pentagon has been hiding the effect of coronavirus on the military and it is likely that infections are accelerating because of Pentagon's inaction and valuing military missions ahead of the lives of their crews.

Could we see warships returning with large numbers of dead sailors?

A Navy Captain’s Brave Fight Against Coronavirus

A Navy Captain’s Brave Fight Against Coronavirus
There’s no social distancing on an aircraft carrier, so an emergency stop was the right call.

By James Stavridis
April 1, 2020, 11:24 PM GMT+7

I have been a ship captain, a commodore in charge of a group of destroyers, and an admiral in command of a carrier strike group with a nuclear aircraft carrier, the USS Enterprise. In the course of my career, I made many hard choices at sea in both peace and combat — but I never faced the kind of hard choice that the captain of the carrier USS Theodore Roosevelt, Brett Crozier, just had to make.

Faced with the coronavirus sweeping through his 5,000-sailor crew, he reached out to his chain of command and requested permission to abort his assigned mission patrolling the Pacific and South China Sea, and come to all stop at Guam to disinfect his ship and save his crew from unnecessary medical risks. How should we evaluate his actions in the face of an invisible but deadly foe?

Let’s start by understanding what life on a Navy warship is like. Think of the kitchen in a suburban home — a fairly nice sized one with an island and granite counters. That’s about the size of most Navy “berthing compartments,” the bunk room where the sailors sleep. In that space, a dozen sailors each have a tight single bunk bed and a small locker to store their clothes. They will share a shower, a couple of sinks and a commode or two.

When the sailors queue up for meals, it is a long human line, snaking down a tight corridor, with everyone packed together on one side to allow people to pass to and from their assigned stations. Even the watch stations on the bridge and in the combat information center have everyone seated shoulder to shoulder.

It is the exact opposite of the social distancing civilians have rightly been asked to practice. The 18th century wit Samuel Johnson said of Britain’s Royal Navy that serving in a warship is like “is being in jail, with the chance of being drowned.” Life on a Navy ship isn’t as bad as jail, of course, but you get the idea.

So those berthing compartments, unfortunately, have become “birthing compartments,” as in birthing the coronavirus. When Crozier first heard he had a few cases, he must have felt his heart skip a beat, as the odds were high that many, many more cases were already circulating through the crew. Very shortly, he had 20 cases, then 50, then 100. His physicians, consulting with the Navy medical establishment ashore, would no doubt have recommended doing all the things that were tried on cruise ships — isolating the sick, treating them as best they could (even a carrier has only a handful of medical personnel onboard), spreading out everyone else, and testing as many as possible.

The problem, of course, is that unlike a cruise liner — where passengers can hunker down in their own stateroom — those berthing compartments, chow lines and watch stations were designed for close-quarter contact. And to make it worse, everybody is sitting on a nuclear reactor that is loaded with jet fuel, high-grade explosives, bombs and missiles.

Crozier certainly knows that the mission comes first. And in his heartfelt letter, he acknowledged that if we were in a war, he would simply do the best he could, hope most of the infected had only mild symptoms, and go to the fight weakened but hopefully operational. But the USS Theodore Roosevelt was not headed to war, a circumstance in which the health of the force has to come first. In this case, the extraordinary choice was to evacuate the crew (all but the 10% needed to run the reactor and disinfect the ship) and keep the ship parked in Guam for at least two weeks. ...

Large numbers of dead sailors?

not likely

the fatality rate for the china virus is less than 1%

and only then because it reaches old people and some with underlying health problems

which does not apply to Navy personnel on active duty

So I suspect the captain is overreacting

 

[Mac-7]

The Pentagon is punishing warship commanders for acting in the best interest of protecting human life by aborting military missions when coronavirus infects the crew.

The Pentagon has been hiding the effect of coronavirus on the military and it is likely that infections are accelerating because of Pentagon's inaction and valuing military missions ahead of the lives of their crews.

Could we see warships returning with large numbers of dead sailors?

A Navy Captain’s Brave Fight Against Coronavirus

A Navy Captain’s Brave Fight Against Coronavirus
There’s no social distancing on an aircraft carrier, so an emergency stop was the right call.

By James Stavridis
April 1, 2020, 11:24 PM GMT+7

I have been a ship captain, a commodore in charge of a group of destroyers, and an admiral in command of a carrier strike group with a nuclear aircraft carrier, the USS Enterprise. In the course of my career, I made many hard choices at sea in both peace and combat — but I never faced the kind of hard choice that the captain of the carrier USS Theodore Roosevelt, Brett Crozier, just had to make.

Faced with the coronavirus sweeping through his 5,000-sailor crew, he reached out to his chain of command and requested permission to abort his assigned mission patrolling the Pacific and South China Sea, and come to all stop at Guam to disinfect his ship and save his crew from unnecessary medical risks. How should we evaluate his actions in the face of an invisible but deadly foe?

Let’s start by understanding what life on a Navy warship is like. Think of the kitchen in a suburban home — a fairly nice sized one with an island and granite counters. That’s about the size of most Navy “berthing compartments,” the bunk room where the sailors sleep. In that space, a dozen sailors each have a tight single bunk bed and a small locker to store their clothes. They will share a shower, a couple of sinks and a commode or two.

When the sailors queue up for meals, it is a long human line, snaking down a tight corridor, with everyone packed together on one side to allow people to pass to and from their assigned stations. Even the watch stations on the bridge and in the combat information center have everyone seated shoulder to shoulder.

It is the exact opposite of the social distancing civilians have rightly been asked to practice. The 18th century wit Samuel Johnson said of Britain’s Royal Navy that serving in a warship is like “is being in jail, with the chance of being drowned.” Life on a Navy ship isn’t as bad as jail, of course, but you get the idea.

So those berthing compartments, unfortunately, have become “birthing compartments,” as in birthing the coronavirus. When Crozier first heard he had a few cases, he must have felt his heart skip a beat, as the odds were high that many, many more cases were already circulating through the crew. Very shortly, he had 20 cases, then 50, then 100. His physicians, consulting with the Navy medical establishment ashore, would no doubt have recommended doing all the things that were tried on cruise ships — isolating the sick, treating them as best they could (even a carrier has only a handful of medical personnel onboard), spreading out everyone else, and testing as many as possible.

The problem, of course, is that unlike a cruise liner — where passengers can hunker down in their own stateroom — those berthing compartments, chow lines and watch stations were designed for close-quarter contact. And to make it worse, everybody is sitting on a nuclear reactor that is loaded with jet fuel, high-grade explosives, bombs and missiles.

Crozier certainly knows that the mission comes first. And in his heartfelt letter, he acknowledged that if we were in a war, he would simply do the best he could, hope most of the infected had only mild symptoms, and go to the fight weakened but hopefully operational. But the USS Theodore Roosevelt was not headed to war, a circumstance in which the health of the force has to come first. In this case, the extraordinary choice was to evacuate the crew (all but the 10% needed to run the reactor and disinfect the ship) and keep the ship parked in Guam for at least two weeks. ...

Even Navy captains have to go through their chain of command. The Navy Secretary and the CNO had plans in the works to take care of the problem. Instead the captain jumped the gun ruined his career.

Hopefully his career is over

 

[Denizen]

The Pentagon is punishing warship commanders for acting in the best interest of protecting human life by aborting military missions when coronavirus infects the crew.

The Pentagon has been hiding the effect of coronavirus on the military and it is likely that infections are accelerating because of Pentagon's inaction and valuing military missions ahead of the lives of their crews.

Could we see warships returning with large numbers of dead sailors?

A Navy Captain’s Brave Fight Against Coronavirus

A Navy Captain’s Brave Fight Against Coronavirus
There’s no social distancing on an aircraft carrier, so an emergency stop was the right call.

By James Stavridis
April 1, 2020, 11:24 PM GMT+7

I have been a ship captain, a commodore in charge of a group of destroyers, and an admiral in command of a carrier strike group with a nuclear aircraft carrier, the USS Enterprise. In the course of my career, I made many hard choices at sea in both peace and combat — but I never faced the kind of hard choice that the captain of the carrier USS Theodore Roosevelt, Brett Crozier, just had to make.

Faced with the coronavirus sweeping through his 5,000-sailor crew, he reached out to his chain of command and requested permission to abort his assigned mission patrolling the Pacific and South China Sea, and come to all stop at Guam to disinfect his ship and save his crew from unnecessary medical risks. How should we evaluate his actions in the face of an invisible but deadly foe?

Let’s start by understanding what life on a Navy warship is like. Think of the kitchen in a suburban home — a fairly nice sized one with an island and granite counters. That’s about the size of most Navy “berthing compartments,” the bunk room where the sailors sleep. In that space, a dozen sailors each have a tight single bunk bed and a small locker to store their clothes. They will share a shower, a couple of sinks and a commode or two.

When the sailors queue up for meals, it is a long human line, snaking down a tight corridor, with everyone packed together on one side to allow people to pass to and from their assigned stations. Even the watch stations on the bridge and in the combat information center have everyone seated shoulder to shoulder.

It is the exact opposite of the social distancing civilians have rightly been asked to practice. The 18th century wit Samuel Johnson said of Britain’s Royal Navy that serving in a warship is like “is being in jail, with the chance of being drowned.” Life on a Navy ship isn’t as bad as jail, of course, but you get the idea.

So those berthing compartments, unfortunately, have become “birthing compartments,” as in birthing the coronavirus. When Crozier first heard he had a few cases, he must have felt his heart skip a beat, as the odds were high that many, many more cases were already circulating through the crew. Very shortly, he had 20 cases, then 50, then 100. His physicians, consulting with the Navy medical establishment ashore, would no doubt have recommended doing all the things that were tried on cruise ships — isolating the sick, treating them as best they could (even a carrier has only a handful of medical personnel onboard), spreading out everyone else, and testing as many as possible.

The problem, of course, is that unlike a cruise liner — where passengers can hunker down in their own stateroom — those berthing compartments, chow lines and watch stations were designed for close-quarter contact. And to make it worse, everybody is sitting on a nuclear reactor that is loaded with jet fuel, high-grade explosives, bombs and missiles.

Crozier certainly knows that the mission comes first. And in his heartfelt letter, he acknowledged that if we were in a war, he would simply do the best he could, hope most of the infected had only mild symptoms, and go to the fight weakened but hopefully operational. But the USS Theodore Roosevelt was not headed to war, a circumstance in which the health of the force has to come first. In this case, the extraordinary choice was to evacuate the crew (all but the 10% needed to run the reactor and disinfect the ship) and keep the ship parked in Guam for at least two weeks. ...

Large numbers of dead sailors?

not likely

the fatality rate for the china virus is less than 1%

and only then because it reaches old people and some with underlying health problems

which does not apply to Navy personnel on active duty

So I suspect the captain is overreacting

Unnecessary death does trigger people.

 

[Denizen]

The letter:

Exclusive: Captain of aircraft carrier with growing coronavirus outbreak pleads for help from Navy

 

[Mac-7]

The Pentagon is punishing warship commanders for acting in the best interest of protecting human life by aborting military missions when coronavirus infects the crew.

The Pentagon has been hiding the effect of coronavirus on the military and it is likely that infections are accelerating because of Pentagon's inaction and valuing military missions ahead of the lives of their crews.

Could we see warships returning with large numbers of dead sailors?

A Navy Captain’s Brave Fight Against Coronavirus

A Navy Captain’s Brave Fight Against Coronavirus
There’s no social distancing on an aircraft carrier, so an emergency stop was the right call.

By James Stavridis
April 1, 2020, 11:24 PM GMT+7

I have been a ship captain, a commodore in charge of a group of destroyers, and an admiral in command of a carrier strike group with a nuclear aircraft carrier, the USS Enterprise. In the course of my career, I made many hard choices at sea in both peace and combat — but I never faced the kind of hard choice that the captain of the carrier USS Theodore Roosevelt, Brett Crozier, just had to make.

Faced with the coronavirus sweeping through his 5,000-sailor crew, he reached out to his chain of command and requested permission to abort his assigned mission patrolling the Pacific and South China Sea, and come to all stop at Guam to disinfect his ship and save his crew from unnecessary medical risks. How should we evaluate his actions in the face of an invisible but deadly foe?

Let’s start by understanding what life on a Navy warship is like. Think of the kitchen in a suburban home — a fairly nice sized one with an island and granite counters. That’s about the size of most Navy “berthing compartments,” the bunk room where the sailors sleep. In that space, a dozen sailors each have a tight single bunk bed and a small locker to store their clothes. They will share a shower, a couple of sinks and a commode or two.

When the sailors queue up for meals, it is a long human line, snaking down a tight corridor, with everyone packed together on one side to allow people to pass to and from their assigned stations. Even the watch stations on the bridge and in the combat information center have everyone seated shoulder to shoulder.

It is the exact opposite of the social distancing civilians have rightly been asked to practice. The 18th century wit Samuel Johnson said of Britain’s Royal Navy that serving in a warship is like “is being in jail, with the chance of being drowned.” Life on a Navy ship isn’t as bad as jail, of course, but you get the idea.

So those berthing compartments, unfortunately, have become “birthing compartments,” as in birthing the coronavirus. When Crozier first heard he had a few cases, he must have felt his heart skip a beat, as the odds were high that many, many more cases were already circulating through the crew. Very shortly, he had 20 cases, then 50, then 100. His physicians, consulting with the Navy medical establishment ashore, would no doubt have recommended doing all the things that were tried on cruise ships — isolating the sick, treating them as best they could (even a carrier has only a handful of medical personnel onboard), spreading out everyone else, and testing as many as possible.

The problem, of course, is that unlike a cruise liner — where passengers can hunker down in their own stateroom — those berthing compartments, chow lines and watch stations were designed for close-quarter contact. And to make it worse, everybody is sitting on a nuclear reactor that is loaded with jet fuel, high-grade explosives, bombs and missiles.

Crozier certainly knows that the mission comes first. And in his heartfelt letter, he acknowledged that if we were in a war, he would simply do the best he could, hope most of the infected had only mild symptoms, and go to the fight weakened but hopefully operational. But the USS Theodore Roosevelt was not headed to war, a circumstance in which the health of the force has to come first. In this case, the extraordinary choice was to evacuate the crew (all but the 10% needed to run the reactor and disinfect the ship) and keep the ship parked in Guam for at least two weeks. ...

Large numbers of dead sailors?

not likely

the fatality rate for the china virus is less than 1%

and only then because it reaches old people and some with underlying health problems

which does not apply to Navy personnel on active duty

So I suspect the captain is overreacting

Unnecessary death does trigger people.

Do you think you can outlaw death?

If that ship is ordered into combat against communist china will the captain refuse to go because sailors might die?

 

[Denizen]

The Pentagon is punishing warship commanders for acting in the best interest of protecting human life by aborting military missions when coronavirus infects the crew.

The Pentagon has been hiding the effect of coronavirus on the military and it is likely that infections are accelerating because of Pentagon's inaction and valuing military missions ahead of the lives of their crews.

Could we see warships returning with large numbers of dead sailors?

A Navy Captain’s Brave Fight Against Coronavirus

A Navy Captain’s Brave Fight Against Coronavirus
There’s no social distancing on an aircraft carrier, so an emergency stop was the right call.

By James Stavridis
April 1, 2020, 11:24 PM GMT+7

I have been a ship captain, a commodore in charge of a group of destroyers, and an admiral in command of a carrier strike group with a nuclear aircraft carrier, the USS Enterprise. In the course of my career, I made many hard choices at sea in both peace and combat — but I never faced the kind of hard choice that the captain of the carrier USS Theodore Roosevelt, Brett Crozier, just had to make.

Faced with the coronavirus sweeping through his 5,000-sailor crew, he reached out to his chain of command and requested permission to abort his assigned mission patrolling the Pacific and South China Sea, and come to all stop at Guam to disinfect his ship and save his crew from unnecessary medical risks. How should we evaluate his actions in the face of an invisible but deadly foe?

Let’s start by understanding what life on a Navy warship is like. Think of the kitchen in a suburban home — a fairly nice sized one with an island and granite counters. That’s about the size of most Navy “berthing compartments,” the bunk room where the sailors sleep. In that space, a dozen sailors each have a tight single bunk bed and a small locker to store their clothes. They will share a shower, a couple of sinks and a commode or two.

When the sailors queue up for meals, it is a long human line, snaking down a tight corridor, with everyone packed together on one side to allow people to pass to and from their assigned stations. Even the watch stations on the bridge and in the combat information center have everyone seated shoulder to shoulder.

It is the exact opposite of the social distancing civilians have rightly been asked to practice. The 18th century wit Samuel Johnson said of Britain’s Royal Navy that serving in a warship is like “is being in jail, with the chance of being drowned.” Life on a Navy ship isn’t as bad as jail, of course, but you get the idea.

So those berthing compartments, unfortunately, have become “birthing compartments,” as in birthing the coronavirus. When Crozier first heard he had a few cases, he must have felt his heart skip a beat, as the odds were high that many, many more cases were already circulating through the crew. Very shortly, he had 20 cases, then 50, then 100. His physicians, consulting with the Navy medical establishment ashore, would no doubt have recommended doing all the things that were tried on cruise ships — isolating the sick, treating them as best they could (even a carrier has only a handful of medical personnel onboard), spreading out everyone else, and testing as many as possible.

The problem, of course, is that unlike a cruise liner — where passengers can hunker down in their own stateroom — those berthing compartments, chow lines and watch stations were designed for close-quarter contact. And to make it worse, everybody is sitting on a nuclear reactor that is loaded with jet fuel, high-grade explosives, bombs and missiles.

Crozier certainly knows that the mission comes first. And in his heartfelt letter, he acknowledged that if we were in a war, he would simply do the best he could, hope most of the infected had only mild symptoms, and go to the fight weakened but hopefully operational. But the USS Theodore Roosevelt was not headed to war, a circumstance in which the health of the force has to come first. In this case, the extraordinary choice was to evacuate the crew (all but the 10% needed to run the reactor and disinfect the ship) and keep the ship parked in Guam for at least two weeks. ...

Large numbers of dead sailors?

not likely

the fatality rate for the china virus is less than 1%

and only then because it reaches old people and some with underlying health problems

which does not apply to Navy personnel on active duty

So I suspect the captain is overreacting

Unnecessary death does trigger people.

Do you think you can outlaw death?

If that ship is ordered into combat against communist china will the captain refuse to go because sailors might die?

They signed on to sacrifice their lives in war for the good of the country not to die needlessly from treatable disease.

 

[Mac-7]

The Pentagon is punishing warship commanders for acting in the best interest of protecting human life by aborting military missions when coronavirus infects the crew.

The Pentagon has been hiding the effect of coronavirus on the military and it is likely that infections are accelerating because of Pentagon's inaction and valuing military missions ahead of the lives of their crews.

Could we see warships returning with large numbers of dead sailors?

A Navy Captain’s Brave Fight Against Coronavirus

A Navy Captain’s Brave Fight Against Coronavirus
There’s no social distancing on an aircraft carrier, so an emergency stop was the right call.

By James Stavridis
April 1, 2020, 11:24 PM GMT+7

I have been a ship captain, a commodore in charge of a group of destroyers, and an admiral in command of a carrier strike group with a nuclear aircraft carrier, the USS Enterprise. In the course of my career, I made many hard choices at sea in both peace and combat — but I never faced the kind of hard choice that the captain of the carrier USS Theodore Roosevelt, Brett Crozier, just had to make.

Faced with the coronavirus sweeping through his 5,000-sailor crew, he reached out to his chain of command and requested permission to abort his assigned mission patrolling the Pacific and South China Sea, and come to all stop at Guam to disinfect his ship and save his crew from unnecessary medical risks. How should we evaluate his actions in the face of an invisible but deadly foe?

Let’s start by understanding what life on a Navy warship is like. Think of the kitchen in a suburban home — a fairly nice sized one with an island and granite counters. That’s about the size of most Navy “berthing compartments,” the bunk room where the sailors sleep. In that space, a dozen sailors each have a tight single bunk bed and a small locker to store their clothes. They will share a shower, a couple of sinks and a commode or two.

When the sailors queue up for meals, it is a long human line, snaking down a tight corridor, with everyone packed together on one side to allow people to pass to and from their assigned stations. Even the watch stations on the bridge and in the combat information center have everyone seated shoulder to shoulder.

It is the exact opposite of the social distancing civilians have rightly been asked to practice. The 18th century wit Samuel Johnson said of Britain’s Royal Navy that serving in a warship is like “is being in jail, with the chance of being drowned.” Life on a Navy ship isn’t as bad as jail, of course, but you get the idea.

So those berthing compartments, unfortunately, have become “birthing compartments,” as in birthing the coronavirus. When Crozier first heard he had a few cases, he must have felt his heart skip a beat, as the odds were high that many, many more cases were already circulating through the crew. Very shortly, he had 20 cases, then 50, then 100. His physicians, consulting with the Navy medical establishment ashore, would no doubt have recommended doing all the things that were tried on cruise ships — isolating the sick, treating them as best they could (even a carrier has only a handful of medical personnel onboard), spreading out everyone else, and testing as many as possible.

The problem, of course, is that unlike a cruise liner — where passengers can hunker down in their own stateroom — those berthing compartments, chow lines and watch stations were designed for close-quarter contact. And to make it worse, everybody is sitting on a nuclear reactor that is loaded with jet fuel, high-grade explosives, bombs and missiles.

Crozier certainly knows that the mission comes first. And in his heartfelt letter, he acknowledged that if we were in a war, he would simply do the best he could, hope most of the infected had only mild symptoms, and go to the fight weakened but hopefully operational. But the USS Theodore Roosevelt was not headed to war, a circumstance in which the health of the force has to come first. In this case, the extraordinary choice was to evacuate the crew (all but the 10% needed to run the reactor and disinfect the ship) and keep the ship parked in Guam for at least two weeks. ...

Large numbers of dead sailors?

not likely

the fatality rate for the china virus is less than 1%

and only then because it reaches old people and some with underlying health problems

which does not apply to Navy personnel on active duty

So I suspect the captain is overreacting

Unnecessary death does trigger people.

Do you think you can outlaw death?

If that ship is ordered into combat against communist china will the captain refuse to go because sailors might die?

They signed on to sacrifice their lives in war for the good of the country not to die needlessly from treatable disease.

the disease is not fatal to most people

the elderly are likely to die when they catch it

but sailors are young and healthy

most will have few if any symptoms

 

[Denizen]

The Pentagon is punishing warship commanders for acting in the best interest of protecting human life by aborting military missions when coronavirus infects the crew.

The Pentagon has been hiding the effect of coronavirus on the military and it is likely that infections are accelerating because of Pentagon's inaction and valuing military missions ahead of the lives of their crews.

Could we see warships returning with large numbers of dead sailors?

A Navy Captain’s Brave Fight Against Coronavirus

A Navy Captain’s Brave Fight Against Coronavirus
There’s no social distancing on an aircraft carrier, so an emergency stop was the right call.

By James Stavridis
April 1, 2020, 11:24 PM GMT+7

I have been a ship captain, a commodore in charge of a group of destroyers, and an admiral in command of a carrier strike group with a nuclear aircraft carrier, the USS Enterprise. In the course of my career, I made many hard choices at sea in both peace and combat — but I never faced the kind of hard choice that the captain of the carrier USS Theodore Roosevelt, Brett Crozier, just had to make.

Faced with the coronavirus sweeping through his 5,000-sailor crew, he reached out to his chain of command and requested permission to abort his assigned mission patrolling the Pacific and South China Sea, and come to all stop at Guam to disinfect his ship and save his crew from unnecessary medical risks. How should we evaluate his actions in the face of an invisible but deadly foe?

Let’s start by understanding what life on a Navy warship is like. Think of the kitchen in a suburban home — a fairly nice sized one with an island and granite counters. That’s about the size of most Navy “berthing compartments,” the bunk room where the sailors sleep. In that space, a dozen sailors each have a tight single bunk bed and a small locker to store their clothes. They will share a shower, a couple of sinks and a commode or two.

When the sailors queue up for meals, it is a long human line, snaking down a tight corridor, with everyone packed together on one side to allow people to pass to and from their assigned stations. Even the watch stations on the bridge and in the combat information center have everyone seated shoulder to shoulder.

It is the exact opposite of the social distancing civilians have rightly been asked to practice. The 18th century wit Samuel Johnson said of Britain’s Royal Navy that serving in a warship is like “is being in jail, with the chance of being drowned.” Life on a Navy ship isn’t as bad as jail, of course, but you get the idea.

So those berthing compartments, unfortunately, have become “birthing compartments,” as in birthing the coronavirus. When Crozier first heard he had a few cases, he must have felt his heart skip a beat, as the odds were high that many, many more cases were already circulating through the crew. Very shortly, he had 20 cases, then 50, then 100. His physicians, consulting with the Navy medical establishment ashore, would no doubt have recommended doing all the things that were tried on cruise ships — isolating the sick, treating them as best they could (even a carrier has only a handful of medical personnel onboard), spreading out everyone else, and testing as many as possible.

The problem, of course, is that unlike a cruise liner — where passengers can hunker down in their own stateroom — those berthing compartments, chow lines and watch stations were designed for close-quarter contact. And to make it worse, everybody is sitting on a nuclear reactor that is loaded with jet fuel, high-grade explosives, bombs and missiles.

Crozier certainly knows that the mission comes first. And in his heartfelt letter, he acknowledged that if we were in a war, he would simply do the best he could, hope most of the infected had only mild symptoms, and go to the fight weakened but hopefully operational. But the USS Theodore Roosevelt was not headed to war, a circumstance in which the health of the force has to come first. In this case, the extraordinary choice was to evacuate the crew (all but the 10% needed to run the reactor and disinfect the ship) and keep the ship parked in Guam for at least two weeks. ...

Large numbers of dead sailors?

not likely

the fatality rate for the china virus is less than 1%

and only then because it reaches old people and some with underlying health problems

which does not apply to Navy personnel on active duty

So I suspect the captain is overreacting

Unnecessary death does trigger people.

Do you think you can outlaw death?

If that ship is ordered into combat against communist china will the captain refuse to go because sailors might die?

They signed on to sacrifice their lives in war for the good of the country not to die needlessly from treatable disease.

the disease is not fatal to most people

the elderly are likely to die when they catch it

but sailors are young and healthy

most will have few if any symptoms

Young cadavers?

 

[JoeB131]

The captain of somebody under his command sent the captain's letter ( written/ signed 30 Mar) directly to SF Chronicle, appearing there and on this board on March 31. Tha t carrier is a strategic asset that had been on patrol. Operational readiness information was leaked to the public and all foreign intell / military. On a strategic asset that is not done, ever. Emergency S.O.S. If you are literally sinking beneath the waves, OK. But, signed letter on letter head deliberately leaked to the paper disclosing that kind of intelligence relating to readiness? Never. He has secure communication capability to communicate with higher command and virtually any command level above next higher command. Very serious breach. He's toast and should be. It is the way it has always been. It is the way it has to be. Get it?

So he should have waited before he had a ship full of dead sailors before he said anything?