On aircraft carrier, life—and war—go on

ABOARD THE USS CONSTELLATION-Navy Petty Officer Second Class Dannvil Jackson stands on a narrow catwalk along this aircraft carrier's flight deck. When he gets a final wave from a safety officer, he hits a red button marked "Fire" on a small console. With that, a fighter plane about 30 yards away jerks upright for a moment before being catapulted down the fight deck. The jet accelerates from zero to 150 miles an hour in two seconds, leaving behind a trail of burning rubber and steam as it takes off.

The process for launching planes doesn't change in wartime. "The only difference is that during training they fly around in circles. Now they take much longer trips," Jackson says.

Despite the war, life is unchanged for about 95 percent of the 5,000 sailors aboard this ship who aren't among the carrier's 200 pilots, who fly nightly missions over Iraq. Engineers still swelter on the ship's lower decks, monitoring the eight boilers that generate steam for the carrier's four engines. Aviation maintenance crews still crawl over planes in the hangar, replacing worn parts with new ones from the ship's $300 million on-board parts inventory. And every few days, a cargo ship pulls alongside and pumps the ship fuel of diesel and jet fuel.

"The day-to-day running of this city at sea has to go on," says Cmdr. David Maloney, executive officer of the Constellation, who manages the ship's daily operations. He says aircraft carriers were designed so that operations would not have to change much whether the ship is at war, out on a training mission or in port.

In addition to basic maintenance, Maloney says it is vital that the carrier continue to provide the same services during war as it would during peacetime operations. Otherwise, he says, morale would sink. So, on mess decks and in wardrooms, 15,000 hot meals a day are served. Sailors wait in line to buy Pringles and toothpaste at the ship's three stores. Mail still arrives twice a day. Onboard college classes continue, and about 50 church services are still held weekly.

The ship's six-page daily newsletter continues to publish-now with beefed-up war coverage, including a recent two-page photo spread of bombs on the hangar deck. Movies, including Groundhog Day, are more popular than news reports on the carrier's more than 10 TV channels.

Maloney says his biggest challenge has not been operating the ship during the war, but planning for the 41-year-old carrier to be decommissioned this summer. "We have to take everything that's not attached to this ship, put it back in a warehouse, transfer [those items] back to the Navy and then transfer the crew," he says. The Constellation is slated for decommissioning Aug. 7 in San Diego. It will then be mothballed in Washington state.

Cmdr. Jim Davis, the Constellation's supply officer, says the process of managing the ship's supplies and services is planned months in advance. In some ways, operations are easier now, since two other carriers also are operating in the Persian Gulf. The carriers can share supplies, and multiple cargo ships are operating in the region. Some supplies, such as toilet paper-which is stacked from floor to ceiling in six separate storerooms on the Constellation-will never run out, Davis says.

Davis says his biggest challenge is not overseeing the ship's 570 supply personnel and $50 million supply budget, but ensuring that sailors are happy with the services they get, from laundry to meals to products in the stores. "We have a competitive audience here. Competition keeps you lean and mean," he says.

Davis holds regular menu advisory boards with both enlisted personnel and officers to assess the quality of the food. Sailors don't always agree on what's best. In one recent meeting, for example, one group of sailors told him to stop serving fat-free ranch salad dressing, while another group requested he increase supplies of the dressing. "Probably the hardest part of the job is to fit all of our resources for different customers," says Davis.

On the captain's passageway, war planes sound like thunder as they land on the flight deck above. But Petty Officer 3rd Class James Dillon hardly notices as he conducts the age-old Navy ritual of swabbing the deck. "A clean ship is a happy ship," Dillon says as he stops mopping the floor outside the captain's in-port cabin for a moment. Then Dillon, who works in the ship's administrative office, adds, "We take care of all the officers, we take care of all the administration, so that's one less thing on their minds and they can fight the war."