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Burnt Zulu

The logical use for all this nautical expertise was to do some waterborne operations when I got back to Oki. After
some discussion and serious scheming Butch informed us that we would load up 2 Zodiacs with provisions and
motor up the east side of the island until we found a beach that was only accessible from the water to conduct
training. “Hey Butch” questioned Craig Lewis, “What kind of provisions are we talking here?” Butch replied “All the
essentials Mr. Lewis steaks, beer, hot dogs, chips, tunes, scuba gear. Any questions?” There were no questions
only assholes and elbows as we blew out the door to pick up “provisions”.

We put the boats in the water at Camp Hansen and began motoring up the coastline looking for a suitable camp
site, I mean, training area. One of the nice things was that our planned three day trip kept us away from the
morons at HQ. Now don’t get the idea that this was just an excuse to go boating and camping, it was, but we also
had our waterborne training to do. So we sat atop the mountainous piles of provisions necessary to sustain an A-
team for three days of training and putted north. As I covered all exposed surfaces of my fluorescent white body
with sunscreen, Craig Lewis piped up “Yes cover your pasty self up so you don’t blind anyone. I on the other hand
have beautiful ebony skin and require no such grease.” “Shut the fuck up Craig.” was the predictable response
from me but Chief Rodd had what turned out to be excellent advice. “You really ought to use some of that yourself
Craig” he said “I’ve seen some really burnt black guys before.” “Chief they were obviously inferior specimens, not
Zulu Mandinka warriors like me.” So Craig just tied a drive-on rag around his head to complete the water warrior
ensemble of UDT shorts, T-shirt, and dive boots.

Due to a powerful headwind our planned three hour cruise to our camp site, I mean Beach Landing Site, was
extended to more than 6 hours. Now apparently the part of Washington state that Craig’s Zulu Mandinka tribe
hailed from had given him much greater ability to endure frigid conditions skiing at Crystal Mountain than blistering
hot tropical sun magnified and reflected by the miles of open water we encountered. By the time we hit the beach
he was already progressing from ebony to mahogany and on to fire truck red and the earlier bravado had been
baked away on the grueling ride in the sun. The copious amount of provisions prevented any ability to get in the
boats and escape the sun, so he just sniveled and asked “Are we there yet?”

I don’t know if I mentioned this previously but Craig has a gigantic nose. It sticks forward far enough that he could
hit you with it if he turned quickly enough. It had nostrils that looked like 747 intakes and this put it into the perfect
position to absorb maximum sunlight and it did. His honker went way beyond Rudolph status and I informed him
“Jesus Craig we better put some camouflage on that fuckin’ red beacon before we have ships crashing here.” I’ll
omit his whining because at this point he had figured out how badly he had fucked up. At this point we designated
Craig as security for our camp site, I mean BLS and we unloaded all the provisions and jumped back in the much
lighter and more maneuverable Zodiacs for some scout swimmer training to justify the excursion.