CAR 54 and the Missing Mike Boats

It was a hot San Diego afternoon. We were anchored about a mile off the coast of San Diego. The cooling system on our ship wasn’t the best, especially when it was muggy, and all day had been that way. But, I was a lot more comfortable than the marines and the officers in the “Mike Boats” (LCM-8). Those guys had been running around in circles (literally) in four groups (2 groups off the bow, two groups off the fantail. They’d been circling for over two hours due to various issues that had arisen, such as: 3 radio battery failures, 1 broken headset, “Mike Boat” issues, and two boats that clearly had officers in charge who not only had never been in such an exercise, but didn’t have a clue as to what they were supposed to do. This was to be a night operation and we’d begun the operation in the late afternoon.

I was in CIC (Combat Information Center) and was in charge of directing the boats to the coast for a landing exercise on the beach. I had the courses for each group laid out on  transparent paper on a light table with a map beneath it. My job was to take readings from my radar operator, mark the readings on my chart, then make sure a particular boat group was within the “corridor” for the beach. A Boat group would be given a “go” signal by an officer on the ship and they’d break from the circle with the lead boat first (which contained the officer leading that group) and head towards the beach. My job was to vector them, giving direct bearings to the officer by radio to insure they stayed within the invisible corridor on my map. If they’d drift, I’d give the officer a course correction.

The sun had set and the first “go” signal was given to Group 1 (I will call them “Group” but we had other names for them which I have forgotten.) All went well with the first three Groups. The operation was timed so as to give each group time to traverse the approximate mile to the beach, off-load the marines (and equipment), back out and return (in another “invisible” corridor. (Sometimes we did operations with multiple landing corridors, but this was a single corridor in and one out because many of those in the operation were new and a multi-corridor operation can get pretty complicated.)

Eventually, all groups had been given their “go” signal. The first group was nearly half-way back to the ship and all had gone smooth. The second group was about to land, the third wave was enroute, and the final group had just moved out. I was on my third cup of coffee and listening to the chatter while getting bearings on all the groups from the radar operator manning the radar scope.

Suddenly, I got a reading from him that didn’t sound right and I asked the operator to repeat the bearing. He did and I placed the coordinates on the chart. It was a reading for Group 4. Immediately, I radioed the officer in charge of the group. I said, “Group 4, Bankside Delta. You are outside the landing corridor. Correct your course.” I gave him the course correction to make (which I’ve long forgotten). I got a weak response that was garbled, but sounded like he understood. In another couple minutes my operator gave me new readings. I shook my head as I plotted the location of the group and their course, as well as the course needed to get back into the corridor. Group 4 had deviated more than 10 degrees from the original course. If they remained on the current course, they’d land in Mexico. We definitely were not scheduled to invade Mexico.

I radioed again and gave the course correction. I had to repeat the correction several times before I got a response, and again it was a weak, garbled response. I notified the commanding officer of the situation, gave them the course corrections I’d sent and they sent the same instructions from the radio on the bridge.

I took readings from my operator every minute. And, every minute, Group 4 continue to widen the distance from itself and the corridor. Suddenly, my operator yelled, “Holy %#&&!!” I leaped from the light table and stepped over to the radar console. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Group 4 had changed course again. Now, they were headed straight for Tijuana! But, they were also headed for some dangerous shoal waters. I got on the radio and, in a very loud voice, said, “Group 4! This is Bankside Delta!” I repeated myself several times. No response. Finally, I clicked the radio again and said, without thinking, “Car 54! Where are you?” My fellow operator burst out laughing. (I later learned that the whole bridge had heard what I’d said and was told that even the Captain cracked a smile.)

But, “Car 54″ was not responding. It was dark, they were running without any lights, and it was clear they did not have a clue as to where they really were located.

Suddenly, the Captain and a very high ranking marine officer burst into CIC. They both looked at the radar for a few minutes with the Captain peppering me with questions, which was a bit awkward at times because I was also trying to vector the remaining boats back to the ship.

After condemning the officer in charge of Group 4 to the hottest levels of hell and cursing his very existence, the Captain stormed out of CIC. I heard him yelling on the radio at the officer in charge of Group 4. Again, there was no response. Eventually, we got Group 4 back to the ship. I’m not sure how it was all accomplished because the responsibility was taken from me. I know they sent out a boat to find the missing Mike Boats, which probably was successful because I don’t think these guys had a clue as to where to find the ship, let alone the beach.

I later learned the officer was, let’s say, not the sharpest knife in the drawer (or so I was told). He should have aborted immediately when he lost radio communications. After losing their bearing, he’d fixed as a directional “beacon,” a light, which they all thought was a light on the beach to guide them in, but was in fact, a light in Tijuana, Mexico (probably the well-lit exterior of one of the hundreds of bars there at the time).

I’d forgotten all about the story until recently while watching an old rerun of the television series, “Car 54″ which was popular back then. For those too young to remember, it was a TV comedy show about 2 cops in New York who are dim-wits, and who occasionally got lost, and for whom broadcasts would be made on the radio for them: “Car 54! Where are you?”

I am sure that I’m the only sailor in US Naval history who has called for a missing Mike Boat group with those words.

copyright 2019 Voyle A Glover