U.S. Navy Defeats Greenpeace

[June 9, 2025] I’m a sucker for a good story involving our U.S. military. If good humor is a thing for you, I think you’ll like this one. Based on an email, we discover that a Greenpeace ship has encroached upon a berthed U.S. submarine at the Naval Yard in Norfolk, Virginia.  This story is about how the U.S. Navy defeats Greenpeace.

In 1993, the USS Flying Fish, SSN 673, was having trouble with red tide. The boat Captain was away on a briefing. The XO and Duty Chief are in charge, along with the Duty Officer. Half the boat’s crew is off collecting parts and grabbing showers. 

Since the water system’s trim and drain (pump system) is tagged out (meaning off line), the crew were attempting to fix this high priority system because that is how they fight fires. 

We were in our home port so all three entrances were open; bow, weapon/shipping hatch, and engineering. At the time, all we had were two P250 water hoses with 250 psi at the bail [the bail refers to an escape hatch attachment].

Five Zodiacs (motorized inflatable rafts) came in and came within 50 feet of the boat. This is automatically a “repel boarders” incident. Topside calls over the 1MC (all hands on deck) for a textbook formation. Everyone on watch. Arms up. There are now 45 sailors armed with 45 pistols, shotguns, and M14s. 

Everyone musters topside. It wasn’t until everyone showed up and armed to kill whoever was dumb enough to interrupt breakfast that it became clear who was hitting the boat. I don’t know if you guys know this but in American ports you can’t just approach a [U.S.] naval vessel. They will F you up. 

The XO makes it topside just in time to see the Greenpeace banner pop up on the last Zodiac. 

[Apparently, Greenpeace had a problem with the USN using nuclear powered warships and they were protesting regularly.]

So I hear the XO yelling from topside, “Greenpeace arms, arms into the hatches.”  The three of us were being tossed firearms down the ladder. The hatches were left manned with shotguns. And two sailors with M14s were in the sail with orders to pick off anyone who put a foot on a ladder rung down. 

Unarmed combat started topside. Two boats peeled off followed by the puddle pirates Coast Guard and the shore patrol. Three boats veered directly for our boat; one hitting the bow, the other hitting the engineering area that dropped off three or four by the weapons’ shipping hatch and backed away about six or seven feet. 

Hippies started climbing onto the turtleback carrying signs. So here goes. In one corner, you have a bunch, 12 or 13, total five per boat with one staying in the Zodiac of hippies that can’t fight and weigh well below the belt weight for the fight. The referees have decided to allow the weight difference and the other 20 or 30 bubble-heads that are notorious for not fighting fair. 

So, let’s start at the bow. The first idiot to grab the drunk line and proceeds to pull himself over the drunk line is met by one MM2 [E-5 sailor] who steps on his hand as he puts his hand on the actual submarine while his other hand is still attached, holding the drunk line. The resulting stomp breaks his hand. He does not release the stanchion so the sailor kicks him square between the eyes. He falls back into the water, surrounded by, you guessed it, the jellyfish. 

That left three still climbing over the drunk lines trying to square off with us. The second one manages to get her two feet onto the deck just in time to see one of the chiefs coming around the side of the sail holding a 50-pound sandbag. Shipmates near the bow heard him say “Here, catch.”  And chunks the bag at the girl. The bag and the girl go over into our jellyfish. 

Third, we don’t even touch. He slips due to not having good traction on his shoes and falls into the water. Ten seconds later, the guy joins another machinist mate unceremoniously tossing him into the water. As the boat is pulling away, we have four guys shoving docking poles into the sides of the inflatable Zodiac. They puncture the boats in multiple areas and since these are below military grade, they’re losing air fast. The boat decides that discretion is better part of valor and moves away, leaving his friends in the water to cuddle the hundreds of jellyfish. 

At the same time, we move to the aft sail as our weapon’s shipping hatch has sailors guarding the opening with a bunch of nuke sailors holding any implements they could find including screwdrivers, a spanned wrench for removing bolts on the reactor compartment. [Apparently this is a big and heavy tool]. 

The  Greenpeace guys on the aft turtleback look down and see the motley crew below decks, cat calling them asking them to come down to come play. Deciding to move forward they are met with a couple of sailors that decide they need a bath. Three go into the water. 

While all this is going on, three sailors are trying to get the P250 (the pump system) started. It takes a bit because it’s a piece of shit. Four sailors are beating the holy hell out of the remaining Greenpeace members. Finally, the P250 starts up. Now the pump of the P259 is in the water with the jellyfish, so it’s sucking up jellyfish into a 250 psi water hose. [a jellyfish machine gun]. 

And shoots a stream with 250 psi directly at two Greenpeace members less than three feet away. Yes, hippies can fly. Who knew?  Both land in the water. The other two decide going into the water is less painful than getting hit with a 250 psi water [stream] of pulverized jellyfish.

The last Greenpeace is standing on the third boat, who after dropping his cargo got out a bullhorn and us screaming six feet off our side that it’s a peaceful protest. Our MM1 is having too much fun with the hose and guts tge guy square in the bullhorn with full blast. He goes into the water as well. 

Shore patrol and the Coast Guard realized it was stupid and turned back around in time to see the last guy go into the water. They start fishing hippies out and medical treatment is provided. 

The tally. Twelve were treated for jellyfish stings, one of which is concussed and has a broken hand. One broken nose that was from the bullhorn and a shiner apparently that made him look like he was a prize fighter. Three cracked ribs from the sandbag thrown at one. And two black eyes wrestling the other sailors topside. 

On our side, one Chief had twisted his ankle after a textbook toss of the sandbag. One sprained wrist and the sailor lost his glasses.

We were given an ass chewing by the XO and Captain. The Squadron Commander gave us an attaboy and SUBLANT [higher echelon command] gave us a Bravo Zulu [good job]. 

Still, after all these years we still keep in touch. 

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Please read my books:

1. “55 Rules for a Good Life,” on Amazon (link here).
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