This is what happens when you use Windows NT to run a battleship!

Hilarious Tale of Woeful, Warlike Computing
Who Deleted My Battleship? Was it you?

This is what happens when you use Windows NT to run a battleship!
(Based on a true story: See footnote)

This is a cautionary tale for those of you who've never been in the British Navy. We
have an incredibly proud tradition of warlike seamanship, much of which is traced
back to the heroics of Admiral Nelson, at the Battle of Trafalgar, in 1805. But, I
must not digress; that's another story.
So you won't be surprised to learn that, as a sea-captain, which as I'm sure you
know, is a responsible office, in Her Majesty's Navy, I, and several of my fellow
seamen, was asked to travel to the United States of America to witness the
transformation of one of their pre-eminent battleships, The USS Yorktown, into a
fully digitalised warrior-of-waves.
So far, so good. Lucky chap, I hear you say. And, thus far, I find myself
agreeing with you. Our trans-Atlantic flights were pleasant enough. Perhaps I should
point out that we're not as lucky as some of our erstwhile friends in Politics, who
habitually co-opt Her Majesty The Queen's Flight for such appointments. I'm afraid
that I, and my fellow adventurers had to make do with passages as steerage aboard a
US transport plane, leaving on a routine logistics mission from RAF Mildenhall.
Our transfer to The Yorktown herself was uneventful enough, and I shan't bore
you with the details. Suffice it to say that by noon, on the day after our airlift,
I, and eleven other British Naval officers, was stowing my mess-kit in a pristine
set of steel cupboards, in my berth, aboard one of the finest battleships in the
world. Well, I must say, I was delighted. And, though not much was said, there were
many broad smiles among my group as we assembled on the upper deck at the captain's
request for an honourable tour of the vessel.
We didn't have long to drink our toasts and engage the spirit of our new-found
friends. I'm sure, as you can appreciate, we serving officers have much work to do
at home. So, for those reasons and others, we only joined the Yorktown on the eve
before she set sail.
At dinner there was much frivolity, as is customary on a warship in times of
peace. If you've not seen a naval captain's cabin, you must understand that it's a
thing of beauty, let me tell you that. Its walls are panelled. And pictures of great
seafaring men and their deeds hang all about. Great trestle tables sport gleaming
silverware. And well-polished men, in white, gilded and braided mess-undress
uniforms attend to their positions for the captain's inspection. Invariably he
instructs his guests to be, "at ease, gentlemen," and shoulders may all slide a
little once that order has been given. But, that this is a formal dinner engagement
should never be forgotten.
After an excellent dinner and a modicum of fortified port wine, I slept soundly
in my bunk. And, I must inform you, that I was a little disorientated when I awoke
in the midst of our military manoeuvres.
We had an open invitation to join the captain on the bridge. I'm sure you'll
understand that our task as naval observers would have been greatly hampered had
this not been the case. When fighting-the-ship, as it's known, it's customary for
battle-dressed men to stand to action-stations, and for officers to maintain their
watches. We British visitors were mindful of the fact that in our case neither of
these duties pertained to us. However, we were anxious to give the impression of
being serving officers, during an engagement.

And, so now that I've acquainted you, both with myself and my situation, let me tell
you then the cause of my astonishment.

Things began to go seriously awry when the Mark Manners, First Missile Officer,
shouted out "Ahoy there, shipmates! I can't see my ship!"
"What do you mean, you can't see the ship?" a tactical officer replied. "It
should be apparent to all on board that you're standing on her deck!"
"No, look!" cried Mark, pointing into his view-finder. "There's no ship here,
look!"
Of course we all did look. And Mark was right. His gunsight, which should have
displayed the USS Yorktown's upper missile deck, actually showed nothing at all.
"What have you done with it?" the tactical officer cried. "Those guns were there
an hour ago!"

At that point Mark's screen turned blue, and a large, white error message
appeared: Microsoft Windows NT Memory Out of Range. Please Reboot The System And Try
Again.

"How do you reboot a weapons system?" Mark asked.
I said, "Control, Alt, Delete."

Error, the system said. Weapons not found. Would you like another system?

"This is a friggin battle!" Mark cried. "How the hell can I use another
system?"

As Mark Manners hammered on his weapons console, the entire ship came to a halt.
The captain appeared on the weapons deck.
"Ok," Captain Riggins said. "Which one of you jokers broke the new computer?"

"Warning, enemy ships approaching!" the radar's speakers cried. "Warning,
enemy ships, two nautical miles, and closing."

"What do we do now?" Captain Riggins said. "The engine won't start without the
computer!"

That's not good, I thought.
"How many of your men can swim?" I asked.

It's a sorry sight to see a whole battleship's crew and its guests stripping down to
their underpants and putting on inflatable, rubber armbands. I held my nose. I hate
jumping into cold water, especially from the deck of a battleship. It's an awfully
long way down from up there.
And so, that's the story of how several hundred highly trained, American
naval officers, and twelve of their British guests, came to be mostly naked, and
swimming about aimlessly, in the Atlantic Ocean, off the coast of Cape Charles.

Moral of the tale:
There's just one necessary word of caution to add. If you ever get put in
charge of an American battleship, especially one called USS Yorktown, don't install
Windows NT on its control systems. And if you do, never, ever, ever ask them to
divide by the number zero. Because, if you do, you'll have to strip off to your
underpants and jump into the water!

Footnote:
In September of 1997, the USS Yorktown died in the water when its network of NT
machines experienced a cascading failure due to a divide by zero. The Navy's Smart
Ship program was meant to reduce the number of people needed to operate a ship.