Operation Ice Breaker, page 4
“Ski,” Ham said, “you take over from Jimmy so he can check out Harry’s condition.”
Shortly thereafter, I had a clear view of Harry on his back on the Main Lock deck, his Kirby-Morgan helmet off, grinning from ear to ear. I clicked my stopwatch.
I called Ham on the ship’s telephone system. “Five minutes was not bad,” I said. “Do you think we can get it down to four or less?”
“Probably. Let’s go through it again.”
Over the next day and a half, we repeated that exercise with several variations, and a dozen more. The ship’s crew conducted reactor scrams, spill drills, flooding, electrical and hydraulic failures, engine failures, and a whole list of other possible malfunctions and casualties. We spent several hours snorkeling, fought several simulated fires, and almost had a real one when Senior Chief Cedric Hurst, the cook, left his bread in the oven too long.
It was with a sense of relief that the skipper ordered me to secure fast cruise and station the Maneuvering Watch for sea trials.
For twenty-four hours, we had been practicing. Now it was on to the real thing. The crew would physically take Teuthis through her paces, take her out into the Atlantic, actually take her to test depth, and run her at high speed through steep angles. We would wring her out before she undertook her dangerous assignment.
My guys would press down to a thousand feet and exit Teuthis on the seafloor. We would push the physical limits for actual saturation diving—not a chamber dive aboard some test vehicle, but an actual dive to a thousand feet on the seafloor in the open ocean.
USS TEUTHIS—SEA TRIALS—HUDSON CANYON
When the captain of the Halibut let me take her out from Mare Island about two years ago, it was a simple matter of making several straight legs down San Francisco Bay and then a hard-right turn under the Golden Gate and on into the Pacific. Not so here.
To start, we were moored bow-out to the left bank of the Thames River. In order not to get wedged between the two piers, we needed to keep our bow square to the current. We had two steerable outboard motors that lowered from the keel near the bow and stern; these would help. So would the tugs that would keep us in the ever-changing river channel. Then, there was the River Pilot that the Navy required us to use until we reached the sea buoy—the outer channel buoy. After that, we had about thirty nautical miles of rocks, shoals, and islands to traverse before we reached open ocean.
“Station the Maneuvering watch for underway operations,” the Chief-of-the-Watch announced on the 1MC.
My Maneuvering Watch assignment was OOD, so I joined the skipper on the Bridge along with two lookouts out on the fairwater planes, secured with safety lines. A light rain was falling from a low overcast. We were all bundled up wearing ponchos with hoods. The sun showed no visible disk through the low overcast, but it was somewhere off to starboard in the southwest, getting ready to drop below the invisible horizon.
The skipper chose to take the boat out himself on this, our first time through the gauntlet, so he had the Conn while I retained the Deck. Barry was in the nav center, keeping track of our position. Senior Chief Quartermaster Alastair Forbes was backing him up, with Quartermasters Gary Fonzarelli and Ben Gross shooting lines of position through the main periscope and calling them out for Barry and Al to lay on the chart. Quartermaster Jubal Henshaw was adding radar lines of position from the radar screen right next to the chart table. Even with the River Pilot, who had joined us just before we got underway, things were a bit tense because it was everybody’s first time with the boat actually underway, and there were lots of rocks, shoals, and islands around us.
The skipper had two tugs stay with us until we reached the channel entrance buoys to catch us if we got caught in an unexpected current. The pilot departed as we passed the buoys, and Barry recommended course 150 degrees to pass Race Rock Light down our port side in about eighteen minutes.
“Come left to new course one-five-zero. Make turns for ten knots,” the skipper ordered over the squawk box.
“When Race Rock Light is broad abeam to port, recommend new course one-three-five, speed twenty knots,” Barry called up from the Nav Center, “and watch out for some pretty heavy-duty riptides beyond the light.”
The skipper acknowledged and then said to me, “Are you ready to take it, Mac?”
“Yes, Sir,” I said, feeling excited to be taking control of the sub for the first time since the collision.
“Remember, Mac, there’s not a lot of water under us, and the riptides will affect a sub much more than a regular ship.”
“Aye, Skipper. That’s been on my mind because I’ve run these waters before.”
“Lieutenant Commander McDowell has the Deck and the Conn,” the skipper announced to the Bridge personnel and over the squawk box to Control down below.
“I have the Deck and Conn,” I repeated.
There wasn’t much wind, and the water was pond smooth. The southwestern glow from the hidden sun was almost gone. After giving me the watch, as darkness enveloped the sub, the skipper perched himself on the sail, peering through his binoculars, his feet dangling into the bridge pit. Above his head on the raised radar mast, a white masthead light along with red and green lights on the fairwater planes, and another white light that shined aft on the rudder, told other vessels of our presence and our general direction of travel. Above the masthead light, a bright amber light flashed for three seconds, went dark for three seconds, flashed for three seconds, went dark, and so on. This told everyone out there that we were a submarine on the surface.
Shortly thereafter, the Chief-of-the-Watch announced on the 1MC, “Secure the Maneuvering Watch. Set the underway watch, section three.”
About five minutes later, section three JOOD Waverly Denver showed up. Shortly thereafter, with Race Rock Light about a quarter mile off the port beam, Petty Officer Ben Gauss, who had section three Nav Watch, announced, “Recommend new course one-three-five, speed twenty knots.”
I put the recommendation into effect and pointed the sub at a spot about half-way between Montauk Point and Block Island, although all I could see from the Bridge were flashing lights. A quick calculation told me we would be there in about fifty minutes. I informed the skipper. He nodded.
I called Barry. “It’s Mac. I’m happy to take your Bridge Watch. I’ve got Waverly with me, so there’s no real work for me. This way, you can ride herd on your guys as we get ready for tomorrow morning’s ops.”
He accepted. I’m sure he wasn’t looking forward to the weather topside.
“Time for me to go below,” the skipper said. “It’s getting a bit crowded up here.” He climbed off the sail top and dropped through the hatch to Control.
“Captain’s left the Bridge,” Waverly announced, as I checked the darkening waters around me, making sure the lookouts had missed nothing.
An uneventful hour later, Ben pointed me to course 190 degrees, aimed at our destination. Hudson Canyon—a deep, forty-mile-long underwater slash in the continental margin—lying ninety-four nautical miles ahead. The sun had fully set, and the sky was now pitch black. Long rollers from slightly north of east lifted our stern as they passed every fifty seconds. The ride was comfortable, but the Bridge had turned chilly with nightfall. The skipper had us remain surfaced until we reached Hudson Canyon because water depth on the entire route never exceeded 300 feet.
I guess we could have headed due south for sixty-four nautical miles where the bottom dropped off to over 3,000 feet to do our angles and dangles, but the skipper wanted to tie everything together—the sub seaworthiness tests and the diving system tests. That’s why he chose Hudson Canyon. Its depth ranges from 400 to about 3,000 feet deep, twice as deep as we can go. The canyon is a bit under two nautical miles wide at the shallow end and three miles at its deepest. This would give us all the room we needed along the canyon length for angles and dangles, and all the depth we needed to wring out the dive system and test the divers.
I explained all this to Waverly. I was beginning to get a handle on his level of knowledge, which was right up there. I made sure he knew that I was there to mentor him into requalifying as OOD as soon as he could handle it. We spent some of our time discussing forward ops and emergency procedures. I even drilled him on nighttime ship recognition. To his credit, he had all the light configurations down pat—all of them I could think of anyway. The section three lookouts, Steve Becker and Billy-Bob Yokum, were experienced watchstanders and participated in helping Waverly come up to speed, much to his amusement.
Doug Watson (Eng) was next on the watchbill. He and his JOOD, Franklin James, showed up about 2340, dressed for the weather, wearing red goggles for night vision adaptation when below in white light. Waverly briefed them on our situation, pointing out a couple of contacts in the distance off our starboard bow—one ship moving into and one out of New York harbor. While he was briefing Doug and Franklin, the new lookouts, Julius Hoppenstein and Randolph Zimmerman, arrived to relieve my guys.
After the old lookouts left, I told Doug, “You got about four hours till we reach Hudson Canyon. The skipper wants to make a surface run along the canyon, and then toward morning, he wants to commence angles and dangles. Sometime in the early afternoon, we’ll conduct our first dive near the head of the canyon. Between now and then, we’ll be pressing the divers down to a thousand feet.”
“I hear you say it, and it’s hard to believe,” Doug said. “A thousand feet…” He shook his head in amazement.
“I guess that’ll be well past your watch,” I said. “I headed below. I’ll send up two cups of coffee before I hit the sack.” I grinned. “I’m gonna turn in early. I got a long day tomorrow.” I shouted to the lookouts, “I’ll send some coffee up for you guys, too.”
Doug gave me a thumbs-up as I dropped through the hatch into Control.
The Control Room was rigged for red and filled with the quiet hum of activity and the nearly inaudible high-pitched background whine from all the 400-Hertz electronic equipment in Control. I sent the messenger to get four cups of coffee to the Bridge, grabbed a chart of Hudson Canyon from the chart bin, and dropped down two ladders to Dive Control, where Ham and Bill were going over written plans while the rest of the divers were prepping for the press-down.
“Hey guys,” I said. “I’ve got a chart of our op area. Let’s see what we’ve got going.” I rolled out the chart on the dive console desk while everyone gathered around. “We’re going to do angles and dangles from here to here,” I said, moving my finger from the shallow to the deep end of the canyon. “Then, we’ll take her to test depth about here.” I indicated the canyon end where water depth was 3,000 feet. “Sometime in the afternoon, we’ll test the dive system at a thousand feet, which should be about here,” I said, pointing to a spot near the shallow end of the canyon.
“What’s this?” Bill asked, pointing to a notation of unexploded depth charges at about 200 fathoms just south of our dive site.
“The date says 1960 and 61,” Ham said. “That’s more than fifteen years ago. If it hasn’t exploded by now, I don’t think it’s a problem.”
“We’ll be more than three thousand feet away from it anyway,” I said, “in shallower water.” I pointed.
“Probably couldn’t see it anyway,” Bill said. “It’s gotta be silted over by now.”
“Maybe Spook will see it with the Fish,” Ham said. “They’re going to test it, right?”
“They will,” I answered. “I’ll tell him about it.”
With that, the divers donned their Nomex jumpsuits, made their way through the Entrance Lock into the Main Lock, and settled in for the ten-hour trip down to 1,000 feet. Ham and Bill sat at the console, with Bill actually running the dive under Ham’s close supervision.
The legal responsibility remained mine, but I trusted Ham, and I needed several hours of sleep before the next day’s operations.
USS TEUTHIS—ANGLES & DANGLES—HUDSON CANYON
On the 1MC, the Chief-of-the-Watch announced, “Attention all hands, rig the ship for dive. The senior petty officer for each watch station report to Chief-of-the-Watch when your station is fully rigged.”
Shortly thereafter, the skipper came up on the 1MC. “This is the captain. We have scoped out the length and depth of Hudson Canyon. We are now near the deep end with about three thousand feet of water beneath us. Each of you keep in mind that we will be making the first dive since literally cutting the sub in half, taking out the missile compartment, and inserting the Dive and Cable Reel Compartments. Electric Boat has extensively tested every weld, every seam, and every seal. Nevertheless, only the real world will give us the final okay on what has been done.
“As we rig the ship for dive, be absolutely thorough. If you are not totally sure of something, check with someone who is. We’re going to take a couple of hours to do this right. When I am satisfied that we can dive safely, we’ll take her down to periscope depth. Some of you have been given specific monitoring assignments to make sure we don’t have any water coming into the ship. If you see anything at all, notify the Chief-of-the-Watch immediately!
“Okay…turn to! Rig the ship for dive!”
In principle, the process was simple. Secure every access to sea and otherwise make the ship ready for underwater operations. In practice, this involved securing all sea valves and their backups and tagging them appropriately, setting the ship’s atmospheric system for submerged operation, setting the diesel for submerged operation but making it available for snorkeling, removing and stowing all topside safety lines, ensuring that the hawser stowage lockers wouldn’t rattle underway, securing topside winches, and sealing all external hatches except the bridge hatch. Every internal system had to be set for submerged operations, taking into consideration that the sub would be operating in three dimensions.
Even with the old hands applying their well-earned knowledge, the rigging process took the full two hours and then some. Finally, the skipper came on the 1MC again.
“This is the captain. You all did a thorough job so that we are now ready to dive the Teuthis. Chief-of-the-Watch, set the first watch section and dive the boat.”
That was me. In anticipation, I had awakened forty-five minutes earlier, grabbed some chow and a cup of coffee, and was hanging out in Control, bundled for topside. After the skipper’s announcement, I got my watch section organized with just myself and the two lookouts on the Bridge. I had Waverly remain in Control to handle things should something go wrong.
“Chief-of-the-Watch,” I ordered over the squawk box, “prepare to dive the ship.”
The Navigator, Barry Jacobs, was in Control. Following normal procedure, he temporarily assumed the Watch from me so I could rig the Bridge for dive. Over the squawk box, he said, “I relieve you, Sir. Rig the bridge for dive and lay below.”
“Clear the Bridge!” I ordered the lookouts.
Jack dropped to Control while Fritz grabbed the squawk box and dropped down below the hatch; I kept the mike in my hand. I made one more quick visual scan around the boat, flipped up the bridge fairing. I climbed through the outer hatch and pulled it down against the spring while Fritz held it tight with the lanyard so I could spin the handle. Then he tossed the squawk box to waiting hands and dropped to the deck while I followed through the lower hatch. He grabbed the lanyard for the lower hatch and pulled it down. As I spun the handle, I reported to Barry, “Last man down, hatch secured.”
He acknowledged, and the Chief-of-the-Watch announced, “Green board!” indicating that all the openings to sea were sealed, showing green on his monitor.
I assumed the Watch from Barry and told the Chief-of-the-Watch to dive the ship.
“Dive! Dive!” he said on the 1MC and sounded two long Aoogahs! on the klaxon.
“Helmsman,” I ordered, addressing Spanky, “ahead full, steer one-three-eight. Diving Officer,” I said to Chief Torpedoman Jasper Cedrik (whom everybody called Tubes), take her down; make your depth six-five feet.”
We all were rusty, and practicing a first dive on fast cruise is just not like the real thing. The skipper was on the periscope stand with me. Not that he didn’t trust me as OOD, but it was his boat, and he wanted to be there in case something went wrong despite everyone’s best efforts. Waverly stood off to one side of the periscope stand, keeping out of the way but paying close attention to everything happening, ready to jump in should he be needed. I liked his style.
Dokey, the Chief-of-the-Watch, flooded the main ballast tanks. The skipper glued his eye to the main scope, swinging around checking for contacts. I took the attack scope, looking first aft, and then forward to ensure the ballast tank vents had opened. When the vents stopped spraying, I told Dokey to close the vents. In about a minute, I felt the sub level off, and moments later, Tubes announced, “At six-five feet, zero bubble, neutral trim.”
“Make turns for five knots,” I ordered. No need to put any excessive pressure on the more delicate attack scope. I glanced at the skipper’s night order book, where he had listed the series of exercises he wanted to do.
“Chief-of-the-Watch,” I said, “prepare to snorkel.” As he acknowledged, Waverly called Maneuvering on the sound-powered handset. Jay Swimmer had the watch back there. “Prepare to snorkel,” he ordered.
“Snorkel is raised,” Tubes reported. I acknowledged.
About a minute later, Maneuvering reported they were ready to snorkel.
“Commence snorkeling,” I announced over the 1MC. On the sound-powered handset to Maneuvering, I said, “Load the diesel when ready.” I could see that Waverly took a mental note of that order.
I made a sweep on the scope. I placed the scope on the bearing of the incoming five-foot rollers. “Breakers bearing…Mark!” I said.
“Zero-nine-three,” Waverly said from the other side of the scope. “That’s forty-five degrees off the port bow.”
The next item on the skipper’s list was checking the closing action of the snorkel.
