Pharris

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/USS_Pharris_(FF-1094)


USS Pharris (FF-1094)

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USS Pharris (FF-1094) was a Knox-class frigate named after Medal of Honor recipient Lieutenant Commander Jackson C. Pharris. It was originally designated as destroyer escort DE-1094 and later reclassified as a frigate in the United States Navy. In 1992 the ship was decommissioned


During the 1987-1988 Mediterranean cruise, Pharris escorted Mighty Servant 2 carrying USS Samuel B. Roberts (FFG-58) from the entrance of the Persian Gulf to about halfway up the Red Sea. Pharris was awarded the Armed Forces Expeditionary Medal for its part in Operation Earnest Will.










http://www.e-reading.org.ua/bookreader.php/79701/Clancy_-_Red_Storm_Rising.txt


Red Storm Rising (1986)

Tom Clancy


31 – Demons

Red Storm Rising

VIRGINIA BEACH, VIRGINIA

"Left full rudder!" Morris screamed, pointing at the torpedo's wake.

"Right full rudder, aye!" the helmsman replied, spinning the wheel right, then left, then centering it.

Morris stood on the port bridge wing. The sea was flat calm, and the torpedo's wake was clearly visible, following every turn and maneuver the frigate made. He even tried reversing, and that didn't work-the torpedo appeared to go sideways. It stopped dead in the water and rose to the surface where he could see it. It was white, with what seemed to be a red star on the nose . . . and it had eyes, like all homing torpedoes. He ordered flank speed, but the torpedo stayed with him on the surface now, skimming along like a flying fish, clearly visible to all who could see-but only Morris saw it.

It closed ever so slowly as the frigate maneuvered. Fifty feet, thirty, ten . . .

"Where did my daddy go?" the little girl asked. "I want my daddy!"

"What's the problem, skipper?" the exec asked. This was very strange, because he didn't have a head.

Sweat poured from Morris's face as he bolted upright in his bed, his heart racing, The digital clock on the headboard said 4:54. Ed got up and walked shakily into the bathroom to splash cold water on his face. The second time tonight, he thought. Twice more during the tow back to Boston the nightmare had come, robbing him of the few hours of rest he allowed himself. Morris wondered if he had screamed in his sleep.

You did everything you could have done. It's not your fault, he told the face in the mirror.

But you were the captain, it replied.

Morris had gotten through five homes when he'd had to stop. It was one thing to talk to wives and parents. They understood. Their sons and husbands were sailors, and had taken a sailor's risk. But the four-year-old daughter of Gunner's Mate Second Class Jeff Evans had not understood why her daddy would never come home again. A second-class petty officer didn't make much, Morris knew. Evans must have worked like a madman on that little house to make it as neat as it was. A good man with his hands, he remembered, a good gunner's mate. Every wall was newly painted. Much of the interior woodwork had been replaced. They'd been in the house only seven months, and Morris wondered how the petty officer had found the time to get all that work done. He had to have done it himself No way he could have afforded contractors. Ginny's room had been a testimony to her father's love. Dolls from all over the world had stood on hand-made shelves. As soon as he'd seen Ginny's room, Morris had had to leave. He'd felt himself on the verge of breaking down, and some absurd code of conduct wouldn't allow him to do that in front of strangers. So he'd left and driven home, with the rest of the list tucked back in his wallet. Certainly the fatigue that had enveloped him would allow him a night's sleep...

But now he stood in front of the mirror, looking at a man with hollow eyes who wished his wife were there.

Morris went out to the kitchen of his one-story house and went mindlessly through the process of making coffee. The morning paper was on the doorstep, and he found himself reading stories about the war that he knew to be inaccurate or out of date. Things were happening much too fast for reporters to keep up. There was an eyewitness account from an unnamed destroyer about a missile that had leaked through her missile defenses. An "analysis" piece explained how surface warships were obsolete in the face of determined missile attacks and asked where the fleet's vaunted carriers were. That, he thought, was a pretty good question.










http://www.e-reading.org.ua/bookreader.php/79701/Clancy_-_Red_Storm_Rising.txt


Red Storm Rising (1986)

Tom Clancy


29 – Remedies


USS PHARRIS

The Sikorsky Sea King helicopter was a tight fit on the frigate's helo deck, but for casualties the rules were always bent. The ten worst cases, all scald/burns and broken limbs, were loaded aboard after the helo was refueled, and Morris watched it lift off for the beach. The captain of what was left of USS Pharris put his cap back on and lit another cigarette. He still didn't know what had gone wrong with that Victor-class. Somehow the Russian skipper had teleported himself from one place to another.



- posted by H.V.O.M - Kerry Wayne Burgess 1:10 PM Pacific Time Spokane Valley Washington USA Sunday 22 November 2015