"Atomic torpedo, pirate submarine, pirate atomic submarine... " Gilligan mumbled in his light sleep during the morning hours. Then he started to dream.
It was one of his fondest memories of his Navy days. It was the summer of 1961 and the ship had a port call in San Diego. While most of the men took their liberty call in the bars of the red light district of Tijuana, Chaplain Muclahy and Captain Grumby provided a more wholesome alternative for the weekend in Southern California. Gilligan, the Skipper, and the Chaplain were the only single men among the small group of sailors in their crackerjack whites who boarded the dark blue Navy bus to Disneyland that morning. The Skipper had arranged a full book of tickets and a bus ride to the nearby theme park through Special Services at the 32nd Street Navy Base, but it was primarily officers and the older, married, sailors who took advantage of it.
That didn't matter to Gilligan. He chattered like an anxious schoolboy all during the two hour bus ride up US 101. At the front of the bus, Captain Grumby and Commander Mulcahy just smiled at each other while Gilligan planned his Disneyland adventure. They, along with the many of the other officers, chiefs, and petty officers shared the young sailor's enthusiasm about the Magic Kingdom, but didn't have the courage to express it.
The Park was still relatively new, so the lines were long. Gilligan carefully got out an E ticket and found a place in line for the submarine ride, which was based on one of his favorite movies. He was surprised to see Captain Grumby, in full uniform, waiting in line. The Commanding Officer was behind enlisted men, no less. The Skipper could have easily used his rank to cut in front, but that was one thing Gilligan liked about the Old Man-- he put his crew first.
Gilligan ended up in the same sub as the Captain. The young seaman asked, "Permission to Come Aboard, sir?"
The Skipper laughed and said, "Get in here, Seaman."
The ride started as Gilligan remembered, but things started to change. Instead of a ride at Disneyland with his shipmates, he was now on a real atomic submarine with his fellow castaways. The castaways were different. Now Mr. Howell and the Skipper had beards, as well as the Professor. Gilligan felt his face, and sure enough there was a goatee beard. The Skipper was still wearing a pirate Captain's uniform, Gilligan's seaman crackerjacks were transformed into a pirate lieutenant's uniform. The rest were wearing enlisted crackerjack uniforms with rating insignia. The women's uniform differed from the men's in that they wore miniskirts and go-go boots instead of the traditional 13 buttoned trousers.
The Captain said, "Helm, dead ahead."
"Darlink, I'll try to keep it straight." Helmsman Erika replied.
"Flank speed." Ordered the Skipper.
Engineer Professor replied, "Flank speed, aye."
Cook Mary Ann asked, "Did somebody order a flank steak?"
Yeoman Mrs. Howell replied, "I believe the Captain ordered a flank speed."
Ship's Steward Ginger asked, "Coffee, tea, or me?"
Storekeeper Mr. Howell groused, "Easy with that coffee, it doesn't grow on trees you know."
Mrs. Howell started to correct, "Actually, Thurston..."
The Skipper cut her off with, "Pipe down, Mr. Gilligan set a firing solution."
Gilligan looked through the periscope. He immediately recognized the ship. It was the USS Kearsarge, an Essex class aircraft carrier they saw ported at NAS North Island when they pulled into San Diego harbor. Gilligan protested, "But Skipper, its the Mighty Kay."
Skipper laughed, "When the world sees what our atomic torpedo can do against the 'mighty' Kearsarge, the oceans will be ours." Soon the others joined the Skipper in his laughter.
There was some important fact about the Kearsarge that Gilligan was trying to remember. Kearsarge, submarines... Then it came to Gilligan. The Mighty Kay was refitted as an antisubmarine warfare carrier. Before Gilligan could alert the rest of the crew to this, the submarine was rocked by depth charges released from the H-3 Sea King choppers above.
"Fire atomic torpedo" The Skipper ordered.
The Professor shouted, "The torpedo propulsion system is malfunctioning."
The Skipper yelled, "Throw me a wrench!"
Mr. Howell pushed Ginger toward the Captain.
The Skipper rolled his eyes and said, "Wrench, not wench, you knuckle head."
The submarine's storekeeper then handed the Captain something that looked like a square red lunchbox. The Skipper ran to the forward torpedo station with the tool chest and got the torpedo running.
"Gilligan, Fire!" The Commanding Officer barked.
"No!" Gilligan replied
The Professor shouted, "The ship, she can't take any more. Fire, or we'll be heading straight to the bottom right into Davey Jones' locker!"
Ginger said, "I seem to remember this British boy named Davey Jones auditioning for parts..."
Before Gilligan could stop him, Mr. Howell pushed the firing button. The Captain hadn't cleared the tube, and was shot out with the torpedo. Gilligan looked through the periscope again. The portly naval officer was riding the atomic weapon like a surfboard.
"Yee haw!" The Skipper hollered like a cowboy, waving his cap around as if he were riding a spirited bull at a rodeo.
"Mr. Gilligan!" The torpedo surfing Captain yelled.
"Wake up, Gilligan, you slept through breakfast. It's now time for lunch!" The Skipper said, shaking his little buddy. The Captain was a little jealous that Gilligan was able to get some sleep in after the long exhausting hours they worked the night before, but the Skipper's cursed internal clock consistantly woke him at reveille.
Gilligan sleepily said, "I dreamed that everybody was a pirate, and we were on a submarine."
The Skipper replied, "I hate to break it to you, little buddy, but except for you and I... they are all pirates. Remember, we have to keep acting like pirates until the bearded Professor can get us home in our submarine."
Gilligan groggily continued, "Yeah I remember now. Oh, Skipper, you'd look really silly in a beard."
The Skipper thought about asking what that meant, but sometimes with Gilligan, you are better off foregoing the explanation.