USS Theodore Roosevelt: one of our aircraft carriers is missing

I can just imagine those Capetonians when the USS Theodore Roosevelt, a massive aircraft carrier, docks in Table Bay on Friday. “Like shwow bru, I’m so happy with that shit I scored in Sea Point last night hey! It’s amazing; this morning when I woke up it looked like the mountain was in the bay hey!”

Mind you, the Nimitz-class supercarrier, which was launched in 1984 during Operation Desert Storm and deployed nine times including Operations Desert Shield and Enduring Freedom, won’t have encountered anything that even begins to prepare it for the problems it’s going to be experiencing during its visit to Cape Town.

Just for starters, docking with our submarines (the two not on bricks) lurking out there somewhere because they still haven’t worked out how to use their radios, is going to be a never-to-be-forgotten experience all on its lonesome. With their luck, just as they are nearing the harbour our geniuses finally work out how to use their active sonar. As soon as they turn it on they get an enormous ‘POOOOOIIIING’ back from the hull of this monster, which has them frantically searching through the manuals because as far as they can recall there’s nothing in there for something this size. Problem is that all those manuals contain is some garbage about; “Zank you for choozing ze Thint Unterzeebooten 2 000 mit extra znorkelz. Ve hope zat you are happy mit your purchase und will enjoy many carefree hourz unter der water … ”or something like that.

Undeterred, our geniuses, who would have torpedoed it immediately but for the fact that the torpedoes were stolen, race round and round in circles hoping that the harbour authorities will notice the frenzy. The captain is making a mental note to demand a radio operator as soon as they figure out how to get back to dry dock. Fortunately fate intervenes and they crash into each other while trying to block the entrance to the harbour … deploy at the bottom of the sea … never to be heard from again.

Except on pay days.

Anyhow after the juggernaut docks in Table Bay, their Admiral will invariably give everyone a goodly amount of shore leave for a bit of rest and recuperation — among the Young Americans, Fast Guns, 26s and all the other “friendlies” you find in the fairest Cape. After about an hour of friendly hospitality they’ll be longing for the serenity of Helmand Province and the Taliban in Afghanistan.

Of course within three hours of docking you can expect the following at the Sea Point Police Station Charge Office:

“… Meneey jy mus’ speak n bietjie slower … okay name? Amiral? Oh Admiral! Ja admiral … where did you last see it? … what time was that? … you say you turned your back for a minute and your ship was gone? … Did you leave the keys in the ignition by mistake? … Is this just for insurance purposes ? I can give you a case number if you hold on a second … Hey boet! Don’t swear me, I’m not your lighty!”

The Admiral, with images of a court martial and 30 years (or as much as he can manage) in Guantanamo Bay racing through his mind, breaks down and starts sobbing. This doesn’t usually work I’m afraid because the police in our charge offices are used to complainants falling apart after hours of getting nowhere.

Shame! But even our cops take pity: “Admiral, calm yourself. Wait I’ll phone my cousin Sampie at the scrapyard near Table Bay … ”

“Hallo Sampie, hoe lyk it? … lekker ou pal, ja we mus’ go pishing soon … luister we’ve got a larnie here … no wag … no I don’t want to buy any planes … not even a fighter … how many have you got?“

Amazing how quickly our guys can recover stolen goods when they really want to. Might take the US Navy four years to put all the bits and pieces back together again but that’s another story. Mind you, if you’re driving anywhere in Cape Town on Saturday don’t forget to look out for the bits they don’t recover; like fully automatic assault rifles, which will be on sale at most robots. Remember: if you don’t see it, ask for it.

Of course that leaves 5 000 sailors and naval aviators unaccounted for.

Many years from now in some little backwater pub in Europe or North America guys will stare in awe when a marine wearing fatigues ambles through the doors. When a stranger, noting the buzz among locals, queries whether this is some sort of legendary hero from Bosnia, Fallujah or Helmand Province, they will respond with: “No sir. That is a survivor from Woodstock!”

Hereendthelesson.