Sailor for Life
A story of stubborn refusal by Ian.
This story was originally published on May 11, 2025.
My God - to be on the bridge of a ship at sunset with a warm jacket and a fresh cup of coffee. I would not soil it with cream and sugar because swallowing a bitter, low-grade brew at any time of day is the mark of an experienced seaman. I would set it on the chart table until the contents get cold and endure its unpleasant finish with barely a wince. Not a refined gentleman, more like a mechanic or a plumber. Dirty coveralls. Scuffed boots. And a faded ballcap shading a stubbled face, eyes squinting against the wind and the unbearable brightness of an amber sky, savoring the salt spray and fresh turbine fumes.
Those are the moments I miss.
Then there’s everything else. Each month, the Defense Finance and Accounting Service sends a newsletter to military retirees. When I received mine yesterday and saw “Sailor for Life” in the subject line, it did not have the intended effect.
Rather than fill me with hoo-ya nostalgia, I broke out in a cold sweat. Like, it won't go away. I can't get rid of it.
In many ways, I am a “sailor for life” since my pension is based on staying clean under the Uniform Code of Military Justice, and in a pinch, I can be called back into active duty from the retired reserve. We'd really be in a mess then.
I almost can’t bear the thought of it. Wearing a uniform. Those boots. Shaving my beard and cutting my hair. Having to call some clod “sir.” I imagine myself back on active duty, part of some staff sitting in a room speaking with some hyper-partisan appointee I could only describe as a “political officer,” like in China, or Soviet Russia. He would tell me to fall in line and I would ask him what swamp spawned him or where he fell to earth in his youth. Demons, all of them.
I would get in hot water almost immediately, living through uniformed purgatory waiting to be thrown into the brig for insubordination. It would be like that email I sent back in the day, but all the time.
When I had command of USS Johnston, the fleet selected us as the “maritime extraction option” to support a US government official’s upcoming visit to a country with which we had a frosty relationship. Just in case all hell broke loose. Their plan involved sending my ship’s small boats ashore for four days – both of them – and my staff tried for a week to politely convince them this was a terrible idea. They wouldn’t take no for an answer. So, after a bad night’s sleep and before my morning coffee, I replied to a long string of emails:
All,
HOLD ON.
You will not use my boats for this operation.
Concerns I have with this plan:
1. Weather: Sea state (not able to launch and/or recover) and visibility (not able to see land).
2. No ready lifeboat available on the ship because you will be using both of them (operational redline)
3. The boats are not equipped for over-the horizon use (safety)
4. The geography would block line of sight resulting in a loss of communication with the boats.
5. No guarantee we will get a diplomatic clearance, so we will likely be 12-15 miles away from the boats for four days.
6. Even if we do get clearance, the boats will be outside visual range due to the harbor’s geography.
7. I don’t know you from Adam and I’m not just going to give you my boats.
I have a hard time believing special operations command has no small boats they can provide. I saw the cost estimate to get a boat down there – a pittance compared to the money we spend just to fill my ship with gas once a week. Spend the money. I absolutely refuse to use my small boats in this way.
Very respectfully,
Commander Ian Bracken
I clicked “SEND,” and then I looked at who would receive it. I counted no less than ten admirals and generals with something like 20 stars in total between them. I stopped breathing for a moment.
In the days that followed, my chain of command took some heat. The Commodore … well, he instructed me to be less direct.
But we didn’t use my boats.
This a fictional post based on true events.
Have a question or any feedback? Please leave a comment - I'd love to hear from you!