In the time frame of about 1976, or so, the SOP for FBM operations shifted to that of a more 'liberal' nature.
My command at that time, the USS Simon Bolivar SSBN 641, had changed Home ports. We were now Home ported in Charleston, S.C. from Rota, Spain. And I couldn't have been happier about it.
I lived only about 10 miles from the Naval Weapons Station, in Hanahan, S.C. Not far from North Charleston.
And as with anything good the military does, it comes with a mouthful of nasty.
Our crew had the boat for the first return to a U.S. home port. And our C.O. was obviously, some one special. Not just in the eyes of the crew, but in those of the higher ups of the Atlantic Fleet.
Our patrol was cut short. Largely believed to be a blessing by all, so we could complete the transatlantic cruise and participate in some 'Special Operations.' Not to be confused with SpecOps.
No, these 'Special Operations' were a sort of PAO, to my knowledge, previously unheard of in FBM lore. Public Affairs Orientations.
We were to participate in Middie Mini-cruises for 4th Year Annapolis students. If I remember correctly, for about 3 weeks we took Midshipmen to Sea for 2 and a half days at a time. We'd meet a Tug Boat up the Cooper River close to the lower Naval Base where the surface Navy was kept, and we'd do personnel transfers of about 30 or so Midshipmen off of and then onto the Boat.
We kept topside rigged for the duration of the cruises, for safety.
The idea was to give potential Submarine officer candidates a taste of life at sea on one of the most powerful vessels in the world.
Each middie was going to get to eat, sleep and roam around the Boat, forward of frame 85 for a whole 2 days and several hours. Providing them with answers to their questions, two thirds of the crew remained on board on Port and Starboard duty. The other third got liberty and was transferred with middies to and from the Tug Boat every 2 and a half days.
We'd go out past 'buoy 2 Charlie' into the dive area past 100 fathom curve and dive the Boat. Of course, A Division never stopped for a second during these operations.
With that many Middies on board, the showers were in continuous use. The heads were standing room only. Sanitary Tank #1 was blown on every dive and San#2 was pumped twice a day.
That kept the Air compressors running non stop. We drilled constantly to demonstrate the capabilities of the crew. We'd pressurize the boat before we would proceed to normal patrol depth with the LP Blower. Normal Blows were short, just to demonstrate the procedure and then the Blower was used to empty the Main Ballast tanks.
The Aux Forward was assigned at least 1 middie as a UI, in theory. We would pass on all of the information required to qualify that watch position as best we could. Believe me, they didn't leave with very much knowledge. It was coming at them at Full Speed. In one ear and out the other.
But there was one more interesting thing, we had 3 middies assigned for the Patrol. They were charged with qualifying and standing specific watch stations. You want 3 guesses?
Diving officer of the Watch and Chief of the Watch UI. So the Diving officer could go into 8 or 10 section duty. What ever it was.
During their quals they were charged with learning the Aux Forward duties to better understand the nature of the responsibilities of the Dive.
I had my middie in tow as I acknowledged the order to "prepare to Blow San1".
I ran down to lower level. I hung the signs on all of the enlisted heads, went up to the CPO quarters and hung the signs in there. Then to the Wardroom and the CO/XO stateroom heads and did the same. And ran back down to LLOPs to man the SP phones and begin the process.
San1 is the tank where all human waste, forward of the Missile compartment goes. Human waste is notoriously corrosive. And the bellows for the San1 capacity gauge would last normally about a year before needing to be replaced again. Something done in port.
When it wasn't working the only way to determine how full the tank was, was to view the contents from the most inboard crapper through the ball valve using a flashlight. This was important data for compensation purposes, unless you wanted to surface the Boat by unloading all of that weight and not replacing it. Which was always a no-no.
I had already done that and communicated that data to the Dive, hence the order to blow SAN1. No one liked doing this job.
Immediately outside of the Port head on the centerline of the Boat was the Snakepit. From where we would configure the piping and operate the valves to blow the SAN1 tank.
I was in the Snake Pit and my middie UI was right there with me. It's pretty tight alone in there, but with two, its a crowd.
I was on the SP Phones and informed the COW I was ready to commence to blow. I got the order to begin to pressurize to outboard pressure. I cracked open the 700 psi air valve used to pressurize the tank, when UI inquired about the capacity of the tank.
It gets REAL loud when you do this. And I explained the gauge and the alternate method of visual inspection to the UI as the pressure increased in the SAN1. I carefully watched the gauge so as it approached the "ambient" sea pressure I could inform the COW so he could begin to flood water into the ship and I could begin to discharge to sea.
As I told UI the method of visually estimating the content level I turned to open the Hull valve backup and he grabbed the flashlight and jumped up the ladder. I tried to yell, but he was already in the stall. All I could do was pull the hatch closed on top of me for protection.
When air passes through a pipe it creates a vibration. This is the principle of any horn or flute. Or in this case the neck tube of the crapper.
At the pressure of the surrounding water, around 50psi, the sound is not unlike that of a Tug Boat horn. Deep and deafeningly loud.
But, it wasn't loud enough to drown out the horror in the girlish scream of middie UI, who had entered the stall, sign on the door and all, and closed it behind him to make 'his' visual estimation of the capacity of the SAN1 tank. Now well in the process of being blown to sea.
I could hear the initial impact of his body thru the scream against the stall door as he unsuccessfully tried to escape, like a truck hitting a wall.
Through the visqueen we used to keep debris from falling into the Snake Pit on the hatch I could see the familiar green fog and bits of, well you know, flying through the air.
UI finally figured he needed to close the ball valve to stop the assault he unleased on himself. I was in hysteria. The COW and the Control Room party knew what had happened. They just didn't know who.
UI emerged from the stall as I lifted the hatch, crying like a 5 year old. Covered in remnants of toilet paper and 'stuff'. His hair blown back, looking like he had come out of a wind tunnel.
It only takes about 5 minutes to blow SAN1 properly, without releasing any air over the side. I had secured the blow already and was about to start venting through the charcoal filter as he passed me, after finally regaining his composure, spitting.
He was charged with cleaning up the Port head and took a shower. But, it was days before the smell was tolerable again. His middie associates never let him live it down. And I'm guessing he withdrew his request to be assigned to submarine duty. And volunteered for the Marines, instead. Staying as far from the reminder of a ships horn as possible.
Something like that, never completely washes off your record.
I don't think he will ever be able to listen to a tuba again without reliving those horrifying few moments when he thought his world was coming to an end, starting in the most inboard crapper in the Port head of USS Simon Bolivar SSBN 641.
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
Yellow Submarine
Yellow Submarine
It was in the spring of 1974. Vietnam was winding down and the cold war was raging hot. We had just arrived in Rota Spain the Ft. Lauderdale of Europe, for refit and deployment. We were tied up along side the pier with the only Spanish Aircraft carrier tied up in front of us. On the other side of the pier was another one of the "Fighting Forty-One". Crew turnover had occurred three days or so ago and as a member of the seaman gang I was plenty busy with the dirty work associated with that crappy job. We had been chipping paint preparing for an all above the surface paint job. At 18:00 liberty went down for the off going duty section. That was me and most of the seasoned seaman gang. We headed into Cadiz where we proceeded to do the traditional image of American sailors proud. After consuming an adequate quantity of sangria and calamari we returned to the base. The pier at the Rota installation is a rather wide girl and is supported by creosote soaked pilings. The tide was out and the boat sat low along side the monstrous pier. We had been using a small dingy to chip paint on the sides of the superstructure and the rudder and it was tied off near the turtleback. On the deck was a pallet with many of the five gallon cans of the flat black, non-skid black paint and intensely yellow zinc chromate primer we would be using to paint the beast. As drunk as we were I was surprised to hear QM3(ss) Jon Honnaker wonder out loud "I wonder what a Yellow Submarine really looks like". Looking at each other the idea seemed to take off. It was late around mid-night. We loaded up the dingy with three cans of the beautifully yellow zinc chromate paint, several rollers and long poles.
Before we got started we discussed the consequences of such a gesture and figured the worst that could happen is that they'd make us paint the boat. Since that was our job any way we figured 'what the hell'. Then it occurred to us that it might be perceived as though we were sucking up, you know, working through the night on our liberty and all. So the only thing left to do was to paint the 'Lost and Confused' (Lewis and Clark) on the opposite side of the pier.
A stroke of pure genius.
As we congratulated ourselves on this breakthrough development we maneuvered the dingy under the pier by grabbing the pilings and pulling ourselves closer to the West side of the pier. As we got closer we paid attention to where the Topside Watch and the Topside Sentry were... no where in site. The brow was in front of the sail.
We began at the rudder and when we had completed it without being discovered we quickly moved to the turtleback. We worked furiously and before long we had painted our way all the way up to the AMR1 hatch. About that time the Topside Sentry was making his rounds and saw us painting. We were all in civvies and he asked in a concerned voice "what the heck we were doing". We told him the COB caught us goofing off this afternoon and assigned us to 'paint detail tonight'. Even though it was our liberty night. So, we told him, we went to town and had few and then came back to take our punishment. He laughed and went back forward. What a mullet. Now we were really pressing our luck. We painted as fast as we could and got some where in the middle of the missile deck when we heard some loud talking and the name of the XO of the L&C being called out. Like mad men we headed back to the stern and loaded up all of our gear and shoved off. Somewhere under the pier we heard an awful yell, we knew we had hit the big time. We arrived back at the Simon B. in short order and tied off the dingy. Hauled ourselves down to bed.
Unknown to us the Lewis & Clark was expected to deploy for patrol the next day. We had started a chain of events that we could not have predicted if we had tried.
The XO of the L&C immediately mustered a counter offensive force. They did something I never would have believed next. The four of them crossed our brow and over powered our armed Topside watch standers and taped them up with EB green. Three proceeded down the control room hatch one watched for the below decks watch while the other two went forward to the CO/XO staterooms. (The fourth stood topside and made 1MC announcements.) Where they proceeded to take just one of the wheels off of the XO's chair and pulled the wash basin out of the wall in the CO's stateroom. And boogied out with the booty in the CO's pillow case.
Once the topside watches were freed by returning crew members a 'security violation' ensued. Of course we found no ship board intruders and we went back to the rack.
In the morning the L & C was gone and our CO was beside himself with anger. After all, this was a MAJOR breach of national security with the over powering of the Topside watch standers where nuc's were in custody. But with no one to be held accountable he was forced to live with the consequences and we went on patrol with a piece of wood screwed to the leg of the XO's chair and he was forced to give the CO his wash basin and he had to use the one in the CO/XO head. We never talked about the events of that day again unless we were somewhere where we were certain no officers could over hear. But we did hear the CO laughing about it some weeks later saying he wished he could have seen the Yellow Submarine...
and that's a no shitter...
It was in the spring of 1974. Vietnam was winding down and the cold war was raging hot. We had just arrived in Rota Spain the Ft. Lauderdale of Europe, for refit and deployment. We were tied up along side the pier with the only Spanish Aircraft carrier tied up in front of us. On the other side of the pier was another one of the "Fighting Forty-One". Crew turnover had occurred three days or so ago and as a member of the seaman gang I was plenty busy with the dirty work associated with that crappy job. We had been chipping paint preparing for an all above the surface paint job. At 18:00 liberty went down for the off going duty section. That was me and most of the seasoned seaman gang. We headed into Cadiz where we proceeded to do the traditional image of American sailors proud. After consuming an adequate quantity of sangria and calamari we returned to the base. The pier at the Rota installation is a rather wide girl and is supported by creosote soaked pilings. The tide was out and the boat sat low along side the monstrous pier. We had been using a small dingy to chip paint on the sides of the superstructure and the rudder and it was tied off near the turtleback. On the deck was a pallet with many of the five gallon cans of the flat black, non-skid black paint and intensely yellow zinc chromate primer we would be using to paint the beast. As drunk as we were I was surprised to hear QM3(ss) Jon Honnaker wonder out loud "I wonder what a Yellow Submarine really looks like". Looking at each other the idea seemed to take off. It was late around mid-night. We loaded up the dingy with three cans of the beautifully yellow zinc chromate paint, several rollers and long poles.
Before we got started we discussed the consequences of such a gesture and figured the worst that could happen is that they'd make us paint the boat. Since that was our job any way we figured 'what the hell'. Then it occurred to us that it might be perceived as though we were sucking up, you know, working through the night on our liberty and all. So the only thing left to do was to paint the 'Lost and Confused' (Lewis and Clark) on the opposite side of the pier.
A stroke of pure genius.
As we congratulated ourselves on this breakthrough development we maneuvered the dingy under the pier by grabbing the pilings and pulling ourselves closer to the West side of the pier. As we got closer we paid attention to where the Topside Watch and the Topside Sentry were... no where in site. The brow was in front of the sail.
We began at the rudder and when we had completed it without being discovered we quickly moved to the turtleback. We worked furiously and before long we had painted our way all the way up to the AMR1 hatch. About that time the Topside Sentry was making his rounds and saw us painting. We were all in civvies and he asked in a concerned voice "what the heck we were doing". We told him the COB caught us goofing off this afternoon and assigned us to 'paint detail tonight'. Even though it was our liberty night. So, we told him, we went to town and had few and then came back to take our punishment. He laughed and went back forward. What a mullet. Now we were really pressing our luck. We painted as fast as we could and got some where in the middle of the missile deck when we heard some loud talking and the name of the XO of the L&C being called out. Like mad men we headed back to the stern and loaded up all of our gear and shoved off. Somewhere under the pier we heard an awful yell, we knew we had hit the big time. We arrived back at the Simon B. in short order and tied off the dingy. Hauled ourselves down to bed.
Unknown to us the Lewis & Clark was expected to deploy for patrol the next day. We had started a chain of events that we could not have predicted if we had tried.
The XO of the L&C immediately mustered a counter offensive force. They did something I never would have believed next. The four of them crossed our brow and over powered our armed Topside watch standers and taped them up with EB green. Three proceeded down the control room hatch one watched for the below decks watch while the other two went forward to the CO/XO staterooms. (The fourth stood topside and made 1MC announcements.) Where they proceeded to take just one of the wheels off of the XO's chair and pulled the wash basin out of the wall in the CO's stateroom. And boogied out with the booty in the CO's pillow case.
Once the topside watches were freed by returning crew members a 'security violation' ensued. Of course we found no ship board intruders and we went back to the rack.
In the morning the L & C was gone and our CO was beside himself with anger. After all, this was a MAJOR breach of national security with the over powering of the Topside watch standers where nuc's were in custody. But with no one to be held accountable he was forced to live with the consequences and we went on patrol with a piece of wood screwed to the leg of the XO's chair and he was forced to give the CO his wash basin and he had to use the one in the CO/XO head. We never talked about the events of that day again unless we were somewhere where we were certain no officers could over hear. But we did hear the CO laughing about it some weeks later saying he wished he could have seen the Yellow Submarine...
and that's a no shitter...
See biscut
While this is 100% true, it didn't happen at sea. As a matter of fact, it happened in Holy Lock Scotland while the Boat was tied up along side the barge that was between the Tender and the floating dry dock.
It was early, 04:30 approximately, the first liberty launch back to the tender was that early for the tenders cooks and mess crew that either were 'lucky' enough to live in nearby Dunnoon, or like me, were trying to make it back to the Boat before quarters at 06:00 after a painfully successful night of debauchery and general drunkenness lest I be on report for being AWOL. It was, for Scotland, a beautiful November night. Nasty wind, cold as hell and rain and snow mix made for a picture perfect day ahead. So, I was inside the liberty shed at the end of the fairly long pier where they had some heat. Benches lined the walls and I was the sole person at the time. Which was good because I was in a bit of a state of pain. Eyes closed and dreading every sound, waiting to hear the liberty launch pull up to the pier... As I lay there in pain I hear the door open and in come two Marines who apparently hadn't even slowed their progress toward a disabling drunk an hour before, dressed in civvies and staggeringly drunk. They bounced off of every wall and opened the door with what sounded like a small explosive charge. Without opening my eyes I checked my own melon for exterior cranial damage as they proceeded to let the world in on their desperate crushing need of a urinal. Similarly a twinge to do the same came upon me, but knowing the state of these two, I chose to wait, even if it meant waiting until I was back on board. If there is one thing a sailor learns early in his obligation, it's that sailors and marines don't mix. As they entered the head their loud and obnoxious voices continued the predictable pattern. Then I heard one of them speak in a some what more hushed tone, he was aobut to disclose a secret, I thought. My attention piqued and my ears began to hear the unmistakable sounds of the high pressure flow of urine as it attempted to chisel away at porcelain... and finally the question: " what will you give me if I take a bite out of this urinal cake?" The first thing out of my mouth was 'a mental exam', but I wasn't (thankfully) heard. The other marine laughed a bit and muttered an unintelligible sound. And then a loud Yuck! As they both departed the shack. I opend my eyes and looked around to see if maybe some one else had heard and maybe seen the deed. No one. My curiosity no in over drive, I had to make the trip in to the head now for two good reasons. As I approached the urinal I saw the unmistakable mouth shaped bite in a fairly well worn urinal cake! I began to look around the floor for the piece missing but it wasn't to be seen. When I went out side only seconds later the launch was loading and I couldn't tell who was who at that point. But ever since then, I can't eat cake that early in the morning.
It was early, 04:30 approximately, the first liberty launch back to the tender was that early for the tenders cooks and mess crew that either were 'lucky' enough to live in nearby Dunnoon, or like me, were trying to make it back to the Boat before quarters at 06:00 after a painfully successful night of debauchery and general drunkenness lest I be on report for being AWOL. It was, for Scotland, a beautiful November night. Nasty wind, cold as hell and rain and snow mix made for a picture perfect day ahead. So, I was inside the liberty shed at the end of the fairly long pier where they had some heat. Benches lined the walls and I was the sole person at the time. Which was good because I was in a bit of a state of pain. Eyes closed and dreading every sound, waiting to hear the liberty launch pull up to the pier... As I lay there in pain I hear the door open and in come two Marines who apparently hadn't even slowed their progress toward a disabling drunk an hour before, dressed in civvies and staggeringly drunk. They bounced off of every wall and opened the door with what sounded like a small explosive charge. Without opening my eyes I checked my own melon for exterior cranial damage as they proceeded to let the world in on their desperate crushing need of a urinal. Similarly a twinge to do the same came upon me, but knowing the state of these two, I chose to wait, even if it meant waiting until I was back on board. If there is one thing a sailor learns early in his obligation, it's that sailors and marines don't mix. As they entered the head their loud and obnoxious voices continued the predictable pattern. Then I heard one of them speak in a some what more hushed tone, he was aobut to disclose a secret, I thought. My attention piqued and my ears began to hear the unmistakable sounds of the high pressure flow of urine as it attempted to chisel away at porcelain... and finally the question: " what will you give me if I take a bite out of this urinal cake?" The first thing out of my mouth was 'a mental exam', but I wasn't (thankfully) heard. The other marine laughed a bit and muttered an unintelligible sound. And then a loud Yuck! As they both departed the shack. I opend my eyes and looked around to see if maybe some one else had heard and maybe seen the deed. No one. My curiosity no in over drive, I had to make the trip in to the head now for two good reasons. As I approached the urinal I saw the unmistakable mouth shaped bite in a fairly well worn urinal cake! I began to look around the floor for the piece missing but it wasn't to be seen. When I went out side only seconds later the launch was loading and I couldn't tell who was who at that point. But ever since then, I can't eat cake that early in the morning.
What’s a Screamer?
What’s a Screamer?
At Sea on patrol in the med can be very boring. And in fact it was on several patrols I made from Rota Spain back in the early '70's. The med being relatively small with considerable surface traffic, not to mention submarine traffic, is not the most forgiving place to make a mistake. Dozens of surface contacts are encountered and tracked everyday. By the end of patrol many hundreds or even thousands of surface contacts have been logged tracked identified and maybe even had the opportunity to be visually identified. We had been at sea for some six weeks and patrol routine was the only comfort in the minds of most of the crew. It was after the evening meal and the movie was in the middle of the second reel in the crews mess. The crew making its usual comments and laughing during the movie. There was a lull in the action and one of the Nukes asked "what is that noise?" Most of us couldn't hear it. A few moments pass and again he asks "don't you hear that?" The projector was stopped and we all listened... above the noise of the ventilation system and the fan room outside the mess... then there it was... a steady rhythmic thump thump thump."Oh SHIT!" He yelled. Everyone ran to their battle stations as fast as we could... seconds later the collision alarm went off. The entire boat shook violently, we never actually collided but the vibrations from the screw were very strong, the noise was surprising and then... nothing... As we secured from battle stations we all looked at each other and several of us went up to sonar to comfort the deaf sonar technician that almost killed the entire crew single handedly. He was in the process of being relieved under orders of the OOD. It wasn't long and we were back into the routine of patrol. Finally, the only watch everyone looks forward to at sea, the maneuvering watch, was set. In Rota Spain, the maneuvering watch is very short. As we all ran topside to get her rigged someone noticed a peculiar pattern of markings on the missile deck running at an acute angle to the fore-aft axis. About three inches wide at its widest and about three feet long with a spacing between them of several inches. The paint had been removed right down to the metal! The only thing we could figure was... you guessed it, that screamer was A LOT closer than we had originally thought!! Despite the time crunch three of us took a moment and thanked God for seeing his way clear to look out for a bunch of sailors in a hole in the ocean.
At Sea on patrol in the med can be very boring. And in fact it was on several patrols I made from Rota Spain back in the early '70's. The med being relatively small with considerable surface traffic, not to mention submarine traffic, is not the most forgiving place to make a mistake. Dozens of surface contacts are encountered and tracked everyday. By the end of patrol many hundreds or even thousands of surface contacts have been logged tracked identified and maybe even had the opportunity to be visually identified. We had been at sea for some six weeks and patrol routine was the only comfort in the minds of most of the crew. It was after the evening meal and the movie was in the middle of the second reel in the crews mess. The crew making its usual comments and laughing during the movie. There was a lull in the action and one of the Nukes asked "what is that noise?" Most of us couldn't hear it. A few moments pass and again he asks "don't you hear that?" The projector was stopped and we all listened... above the noise of the ventilation system and the fan room outside the mess... then there it was... a steady rhythmic thump thump thump."Oh SHIT!" He yelled. Everyone ran to their battle stations as fast as we could... seconds later the collision alarm went off. The entire boat shook violently, we never actually collided but the vibrations from the screw were very strong, the noise was surprising and then... nothing... As we secured from battle stations we all looked at each other and several of us went up to sonar to comfort the deaf sonar technician that almost killed the entire crew single handedly. He was in the process of being relieved under orders of the OOD. It wasn't long and we were back into the routine of patrol. Finally, the only watch everyone looks forward to at sea, the maneuvering watch, was set. In Rota Spain, the maneuvering watch is very short. As we all ran topside to get her rigged someone noticed a peculiar pattern of markings on the missile deck running at an acute angle to the fore-aft axis. About three inches wide at its widest and about three feet long with a spacing between them of several inches. The paint had been removed right down to the metal! The only thing we could figure was... you guessed it, that screamer was A LOT closer than we had originally thought!! Despite the time crunch three of us took a moment and thanked God for seeing his way clear to look out for a bunch of sailors in a hole in the ocean.
Too crazy to be on a Submarine
Too crazy to be on a Submarine
In the classic example of a newbie being locked in a submarine for three months, an animal is born.
This was a cold war era patrol sometime in 1973/4 and it happened that the Simon B. SSBN 641B was alerted to be completely refit and leave for our patrol area with in 17 days of arrival of the Blue crew. Now, this was my first submarine assignment, my third patrol and as crews go, this was a Great Crew. We had received our compliment of new crew and completed a refit, repairs, stores top off and a mini-sea trial with much credit to the Simon Lake submarine tender crew. No small feat in itself. We took off and headed for the Med and once on site in our patrol area we settled in for the usual boring routine and drill mix.
One of our newbies was an MT3. He seemed to be an okay guy (as guys and non-qual’s go). He was UI as the missile compartment rover and doing fine. As the rover he was charged (via his UI supervisory watch) with the cognizance of the EBW keys. (Exploding Bridge Wire(s) enable the gas generators that lift the launched the missiles) He had seen the qualified rovers winging them around on their finger on a orange shot line necklace as they walked their beat.
After a particularly brutal day of battle stations missile drills this newbie was walking his beat, and beat he was. Swinging his keys and looking for all the world like a real pro. When off of his finger go the keys! Now, this is no small disaster. It boarders on a breach of national security. A break down in the first line of our nations defense against nuclear attack. They fly off his finger, not far, we are in a submarine mind you, in MCUL into a frame bay and they slide down along the hull into the bilge and stop near the base of tube 5. His mentor and the REAL responsible party for the keys gets a panicky look on his face and says "man you'd better get those keys, and don't tell anyone you lost 'em or we're swimmin' back home". Trying to get a rise of panic to show on this kids face. The poor kid is scared spit less. But to his credit he hides none of it. Down the ladder he goes into middle level and then down to LL. He starts flicking up the bilge hatches looking for the EBW keys. And talking to himself. With every hatch that opens and he finds nothing the more scared he becomes.
All the while the rover watch is in Launcher talking with the Launcher watch trying to be nonchalant. Soon it's time for his next round but no UI, and no EBW keys!! So down to LL goes the watch. He peeks around the inboard side of tube 1 and sees the mid ships deck hatch is open at tube 5 but no UI is in site. He calls out. No response. He walks over to the deck hatch and calls down, no response. He calls again, nothing. Now really starting to get concerned he steps down onto the frame to enter the bilge and he hears a barking "bark, bark" and the UI takes a bite right out of his right calf. The rover is more than a little startled and lets out a muffled scream and backs out of the 'dogs' reach. But the UI stays back in the shadows of the bilge. Growling. Now the rover begins to get desperate. He has waited long enough and the situation could get out of hand quickly if the off going OOD makes his rounds and finds out the truth about this whole situation. About this time I wander through as Auxiliary man Forward. The rover asks me to go to the galley and plead with our night cook, who was a Light Weight Golden Gloves champion from Philly before he came into the service of his country, to come right away. As requested I get the cook, Tisdale, and bring him to MCLL. The rover explains to Tisdale that this is getting serious and displays a gaping bite bleeding all over the place in his calf. Tisdale steps over to the deck hatch and yells down: "don't you make me come down and get you". No response. Dead quite. Tisdale, now a little perturbed, takes a lesson from the rover and jumps straight down into the bilge and charges the UI while we wait above deck. Quickly we hear a loud smack followed by a muffled whimper and another smack, as two rapid punches render the trainee unconscious. He drags him to the hatch and we pull him up on the deck. He has the EBW keys in his hand. Wow, that was close. Now what? About that time the off going OOD comes through on his rounds. Now the cat (so to speak) is out of the bag. The entire episode was explained away as a classic case of severe stress induced isolation anxiety.
(Of course, the Navy in it's wisdom never misses a chance to implement new 'rules' to further complicate the lives of it' members. Shotline necklaces holding SECRET/TOP SECRET Keys were just that, necklaces, not some insignificant toy to be whipped around on a finger, no sir. From that point on those necklaces were to be attached to the duty belt of the rover. Just like his night stick.)
The guy's cheese had slipped off of his cracker, with a CRASH!. He thought he was a Dog! Submarine school was supposed to weed these types out. Without facilities to house a rubber room nut case he was restrained to MCLL out reach of anything that could cause harm to himself or the ship or crew. He stayed there for several days until he could be medi-vac'd off the boat. In the mean time, many of us missed our pets so visitors were regular as clock work. We tried as hard as we could, we could never get him to do any real tricks though.
The real truth about how this whole thing happened was never explained to the wardroom due to the dire nature of the consequences. Today though, you know the rest of the story... And that, is a no shitter.
In the classic example of a newbie being locked in a submarine for three months, an animal is born.
This was a cold war era patrol sometime in 1973/4 and it happened that the Simon B. SSBN 641B was alerted to be completely refit and leave for our patrol area with in 17 days of arrival of the Blue crew. Now, this was my first submarine assignment, my third patrol and as crews go, this was a Great Crew. We had received our compliment of new crew and completed a refit, repairs, stores top off and a mini-sea trial with much credit to the Simon Lake submarine tender crew. No small feat in itself. We took off and headed for the Med and once on site in our patrol area we settled in for the usual boring routine and drill mix.
One of our newbies was an MT3. He seemed to be an okay guy (as guys and non-qual’s go). He was UI as the missile compartment rover and doing fine. As the rover he was charged (via his UI supervisory watch) with the cognizance of the EBW keys. (Exploding Bridge Wire(s) enable the gas generators that lift the launched the missiles) He had seen the qualified rovers winging them around on their finger on a orange shot line necklace as they walked their beat.
After a particularly brutal day of battle stations missile drills this newbie was walking his beat, and beat he was. Swinging his keys and looking for all the world like a real pro. When off of his finger go the keys! Now, this is no small disaster. It boarders on a breach of national security. A break down in the first line of our nations defense against nuclear attack. They fly off his finger, not far, we are in a submarine mind you, in MCUL into a frame bay and they slide down along the hull into the bilge and stop near the base of tube 5. His mentor and the REAL responsible party for the keys gets a panicky look on his face and says "man you'd better get those keys, and don't tell anyone you lost 'em or we're swimmin' back home". Trying to get a rise of panic to show on this kids face. The poor kid is scared spit less. But to his credit he hides none of it. Down the ladder he goes into middle level and then down to LL. He starts flicking up the bilge hatches looking for the EBW keys. And talking to himself. With every hatch that opens and he finds nothing the more scared he becomes.
All the while the rover watch is in Launcher talking with the Launcher watch trying to be nonchalant. Soon it's time for his next round but no UI, and no EBW keys!! So down to LL goes the watch. He peeks around the inboard side of tube 1 and sees the mid ships deck hatch is open at tube 5 but no UI is in site. He calls out. No response. He walks over to the deck hatch and calls down, no response. He calls again, nothing. Now really starting to get concerned he steps down onto the frame to enter the bilge and he hears a barking "bark, bark" and the UI takes a bite right out of his right calf. The rover is more than a little startled and lets out a muffled scream and backs out of the 'dogs' reach. But the UI stays back in the shadows of the bilge. Growling. Now the rover begins to get desperate. He has waited long enough and the situation could get out of hand quickly if the off going OOD makes his rounds and finds out the truth about this whole situation. About this time I wander through as Auxiliary man Forward. The rover asks me to go to the galley and plead with our night cook, who was a Light Weight Golden Gloves champion from Philly before he came into the service of his country, to come right away. As requested I get the cook, Tisdale, and bring him to MCLL. The rover explains to Tisdale that this is getting serious and displays a gaping bite bleeding all over the place in his calf. Tisdale steps over to the deck hatch and yells down: "don't you make me come down and get you". No response. Dead quite. Tisdale, now a little perturbed, takes a lesson from the rover and jumps straight down into the bilge and charges the UI while we wait above deck. Quickly we hear a loud smack followed by a muffled whimper and another smack, as two rapid punches render the trainee unconscious. He drags him to the hatch and we pull him up on the deck. He has the EBW keys in his hand. Wow, that was close. Now what? About that time the off going OOD comes through on his rounds. Now the cat (so to speak) is out of the bag. The entire episode was explained away as a classic case of severe stress induced isolation anxiety.
(Of course, the Navy in it's wisdom never misses a chance to implement new 'rules' to further complicate the lives of it' members. Shotline necklaces holding SECRET/TOP SECRET Keys were just that, necklaces, not some insignificant toy to be whipped around on a finger, no sir. From that point on those necklaces were to be attached to the duty belt of the rover. Just like his night stick.)
The guy's cheese had slipped off of his cracker, with a CRASH!. He thought he was a Dog! Submarine school was supposed to weed these types out. Without facilities to house a rubber room nut case he was restrained to MCLL out reach of anything that could cause harm to himself or the ship or crew. He stayed there for several days until he could be medi-vac'd off the boat. In the mean time, many of us missed our pets so visitors were regular as clock work. We tried as hard as we could, we could never get him to do any real tricks though.
The real truth about how this whole thing happened was never explained to the wardroom due to the dire nature of the consequences. Today though, you know the rest of the story... And that, is a no shitter.
The Joke that almost happened
The Joke that almost happened
You know how sometimes you can be taken by surprise by things or people you have taken for granted? Weeellll... Once upon a time in a big metal tube submerged beneath the oceans surface for seven weeks a previously assumed to be wus QM2 made a bold move to make his mark on his last patrol and remove the 'stain of the mark of the wus' before being transferred. As a QM (affectionately pronounced 'Quim')this boy soon to be 'man' had unusual access to the CO/XO staterooms and as a professional suck up enjoyed (if you can call it that)a relationship with both that was reminiscent of a good ol' boy and his errant but well intended bird dog. Free to come and go virtually un-noticed. Of course, having the CO/XO's staterooms as one of his assigned field day spaces made some difference, too. Most often when a crew member plays a practical joke on another crew member it is widely known to all except the poor unsuspecting victim. Not so this time. Summoned to the XO's stateroom I was admonished for the shoddy "repair work on the shower". The Hot water handle was missing! and the XO was in the mood for a shower. Not one to take a cold shower, as was sometimes the enlisted mans only opportunity, he ordered me to 'search for the missing handle'. I immediately began the search. Assuming that, indeed, it was a botched work assignment and the handle was in AMR#1 on the work bench. Not. I searched everywhere. I looked in the 'available spares' the whole nine yards. As I was in and out of the Control Room area in a state of mind obviously showing direction, QM2 Giesert inquired as to my present job. I blew him off the first time. But the second time I figured he had something he wanted to say. So I told him to unburden himself. With a quick discreet "follow me" we headed for OPSML and the freezer door at the bottom of the ladder. In he went. I waited. A few moments later he returned with a plastic bag and about a gallon of water frozen in the bottom and something was in it. You guessed it, the missing shower handle. He was exceedingly proud of himself and requested that I share his little secret. Always ready to enjoy another persons suffering, especially if it's of the superficial type, I conceded. I played it off as though I could not locate the missing handle. No record of work was in the tag out log and nothing in the discrepancies log. No one was aware of any work being done or pending (until this) on any potable water system that may have been confused with the CO/XO shower. As an A-Ganger I could not allow the situation to go un-remedied, and although the answer was obvious, I handed the XO a pair of vice grips. Finding no humor in my "fix" the order went out for ALL A-Gangers to report to the XO's stateroom for search detail. I started with the A-Div officer and the Chief. Sniveling officers turn into a drag real fast. And the higher the rank the faster they sour. This was no exception. The Chief came up with the answer before the entire division could be mustered outside the XO's door... Take one of the enlisted men’s shower handles. And so it was done. Despite the "good intentions" of playing a practical joke on an officer the entire thing bombed out due to improper planning. Safe in his obscurity, Quim 2/ss Giesert's first and last chance at immortality fizzled to an insignificant end.
Moral: Those never willing to accept the consequences should refrain from taking the chances
You know how sometimes you can be taken by surprise by things or people you have taken for granted? Weeellll... Once upon a time in a big metal tube submerged beneath the oceans surface for seven weeks a previously assumed to be wus QM2 made a bold move to make his mark on his last patrol and remove the 'stain of the mark of the wus' before being transferred. As a QM (affectionately pronounced 'Quim')this boy soon to be 'man' had unusual access to the CO/XO staterooms and as a professional suck up enjoyed (if you can call it that)a relationship with both that was reminiscent of a good ol' boy and his errant but well intended bird dog. Free to come and go virtually un-noticed. Of course, having the CO/XO's staterooms as one of his assigned field day spaces made some difference, too. Most often when a crew member plays a practical joke on another crew member it is widely known to all except the poor unsuspecting victim. Not so this time. Summoned to the XO's stateroom I was admonished for the shoddy "repair work on the shower". The Hot water handle was missing! and the XO was in the mood for a shower. Not one to take a cold shower, as was sometimes the enlisted mans only opportunity, he ordered me to 'search for the missing handle'. I immediately began the search. Assuming that, indeed, it was a botched work assignment and the handle was in AMR#1 on the work bench. Not. I searched everywhere. I looked in the 'available spares' the whole nine yards. As I was in and out of the Control Room area in a state of mind obviously showing direction, QM2 Giesert inquired as to my present job. I blew him off the first time. But the second time I figured he had something he wanted to say. So I told him to unburden himself. With a quick discreet "follow me" we headed for OPSML and the freezer door at the bottom of the ladder. In he went. I waited. A few moments later he returned with a plastic bag and about a gallon of water frozen in the bottom and something was in it. You guessed it, the missing shower handle. He was exceedingly proud of himself and requested that I share his little secret. Always ready to enjoy another persons suffering, especially if it's of the superficial type, I conceded. I played it off as though I could not locate the missing handle. No record of work was in the tag out log and nothing in the discrepancies log. No one was aware of any work being done or pending (until this) on any potable water system that may have been confused with the CO/XO shower. As an A-Ganger I could not allow the situation to go un-remedied, and although the answer was obvious, I handed the XO a pair of vice grips. Finding no humor in my "fix" the order went out for ALL A-Gangers to report to the XO's stateroom for search detail. I started with the A-Div officer and the Chief. Sniveling officers turn into a drag real fast. And the higher the rank the faster they sour. This was no exception. The Chief came up with the answer before the entire division could be mustered outside the XO's door... Take one of the enlisted men’s shower handles. And so it was done. Despite the "good intentions" of playing a practical joke on an officer the entire thing bombed out due to improper planning. Safe in his obscurity, Quim 2/ss Giesert's first and last chance at immortality fizzled to an insignificant end.
Moral: Those never willing to accept the consequences should refrain from taking the chances
The FM …Slide….
The FM …Slide….
Back in the mid ‘70’s was a good time for many of the original Fighting 41 for Freedom. SOP was being reevaluated and in some instances it was liberalized. I don’t think Adm. Zummwalt had anything to do with it. Or did Adm. Rickover. So, appropriate thanks to those responsible were never doled out by me personally.
However, as our home port at the time was that jewel of the south of Europe, Rota Spain, and was being changed to Charleston South Carolina, the crew, as Mike Tyson would say, was ‘estatic’ to be making the move.
In the anticipation of the return to Charleston our Atlantic Fleet commander authorized some ‘special’ duty ops. to help keep us motivated.
We were ordered to report to Cape Canaveral, Coca Beach Florida for daily ops with a Destroyer being outfitted with “special submarine busting sonar”. Like there ever was such a thing.
The sonar, called the FM slide, sent up to fifteen separate sonar pulses out at close to the same time. Virtually blanketing the undersea area with sonar pulses. It was cool to look at. But I digress.
Since these were considered ‘day ops’ thirty percent of the crew was allowed to remain behind on the beach on deployment every morning.
We began on the first day at a known starting point (known to the destroyer) and depth. The Destroyer (target) was allowed to acquire contact via sonar and then we were to progress through a previously designated course at a pre determined speed. That way even if for some unknown reason contact was lost, if one had a stop watch and the map you could plot exactly where we should be at any given time. The underwater phone was used to start the event.
By most accounts this was an exercise dreamed up in skimmer heaven. “We’ll show those Sub sailors who’s the target”, I could just hear them saying.
Before we had gone to the second turn they were heading in the opposite direction.
We followed our designated course and completed at the exact time and point we were expected to.
That night a pow-wow was had by the combined wardrooms and everyone agreed that a better effort could be managed the next day.
The next day the plan was to allow the Sub to begin directly under the surface craft. Once the surface craft had acquired contact we were to move out and follow a pre designated course known only to the Submarine instead of both. I guess the thinking was that possibly the surface craft quartermaster and helmsman crew couldn’t navigate, and that was okay for reasons sound enough for a navy that floats on water. Obviously, those reasons were unsound when applied to a submerged navy already sunk.
As the exercise matured it was again clear that the surface craft was outside of its ‘comfort zone’. Unable to navigate a course that mirrored a submerged contact and remain temporarily undetected in it’s baffles is, one would believe, a woeful position for a combat ship to be in. Just the same, they proudly displayed the Battle Efficiency “E” with several hash marks on their stack.
That night on the return of both vessels to the pier yet another command conference was assembled and a post mortem of the days events conducted.
Finally, after more than a week of day ops and several FM slide tune ups an opportunity for the C.O. to shine was presented.
The final day we began on the surface immediately in front of the Destroyer. They had us dead to rights on their sonar. Duh.
We dove the ship and with in 10 minutes we were alone once again. The C.O. was a little miffed. This was a giant waste of time, money and effort. These guys couldn’t find their ass with both hands.
It was time for a little lesson in humility. We began by getting in their baffles at time Zulu + 00:13. We remained there all day taking time to come to periscope depth often taking pictures and getting in some fire control practice at the same time. At the end of the time allotted for the exercise we were required to disclose our location. Since we were directly astern of the destroyer we moved to their starboard at a range of about 70 yards and directly on their beam with the attack scope sticking out of the water about 12 feet. Since a surface craft operates with their radar going all of the time we figured we had about two minutes before we were detected by the radar or by the lookout. As we moved along at 4 knots, the surface craft called out on the UQC (underwater phone) for us to show ourselves.
Not wanting to quit without making a statement our C.O. said “raise the #2 scope”. Every one knew this would more than double the radar signature as the #2 scope fairing was huge and we virtually felt we were had.
But, surprise! No notice. Now the C.O. was really irked. “Raise the radar mast”… nothing. “Raise the …16 mast”… nothing. “Raise the snorkel mast”. Nothing. “Broach the ship!” Nothing. Remember we were only 70 to 100 yards off the starboard beam. I could clearly see our counter part using low power on #2 scope and couldn’t believe we were undetected.
The C.O. went to the bridge. From there he ordered a green smoke loaded and fired on his mark from the signal ejector. The smoke crossed the bow of the destroyer only seconds after they saw us.
Granted, there were obviously some extenuating circumstances in the example sited above. But given that and what we already know about submarine operations and stealth it can only be a good thing that the last true naval war was WWII and that 52% of all tonnage sunk in that terrible conflict was sunk by 2% of the fleet. Those incredibly brave men in the sinking machines.
Back in the mid ‘70’s was a good time for many of the original Fighting 41 for Freedom. SOP was being reevaluated and in some instances it was liberalized. I don’t think Adm. Zummwalt had anything to do with it. Or did Adm. Rickover. So, appropriate thanks to those responsible were never doled out by me personally.
However, as our home port at the time was that jewel of the south of Europe, Rota Spain, and was being changed to Charleston South Carolina, the crew, as Mike Tyson would say, was ‘estatic’ to be making the move.
In the anticipation of the return to Charleston our Atlantic Fleet commander authorized some ‘special’ duty ops. to help keep us motivated.
We were ordered to report to Cape Canaveral, Coca Beach Florida for daily ops with a Destroyer being outfitted with “special submarine busting sonar”. Like there ever was such a thing.
The sonar, called the FM slide, sent up to fifteen separate sonar pulses out at close to the same time. Virtually blanketing the undersea area with sonar pulses. It was cool to look at. But I digress.
Since these were considered ‘day ops’ thirty percent of the crew was allowed to remain behind on the beach on deployment every morning.
We began on the first day at a known starting point (known to the destroyer) and depth. The Destroyer (target) was allowed to acquire contact via sonar and then we were to progress through a previously designated course at a pre determined speed. That way even if for some unknown reason contact was lost, if one had a stop watch and the map you could plot exactly where we should be at any given time. The underwater phone was used to start the event.
By most accounts this was an exercise dreamed up in skimmer heaven. “We’ll show those Sub sailors who’s the target”, I could just hear them saying.
Before we had gone to the second turn they were heading in the opposite direction.
We followed our designated course and completed at the exact time and point we were expected to.
That night a pow-wow was had by the combined wardrooms and everyone agreed that a better effort could be managed the next day.
The next day the plan was to allow the Sub to begin directly under the surface craft. Once the surface craft had acquired contact we were to move out and follow a pre designated course known only to the Submarine instead of both. I guess the thinking was that possibly the surface craft quartermaster and helmsman crew couldn’t navigate, and that was okay for reasons sound enough for a navy that floats on water. Obviously, those reasons were unsound when applied to a submerged navy already sunk.
As the exercise matured it was again clear that the surface craft was outside of its ‘comfort zone’. Unable to navigate a course that mirrored a submerged contact and remain temporarily undetected in it’s baffles is, one would believe, a woeful position for a combat ship to be in. Just the same, they proudly displayed the Battle Efficiency “E” with several hash marks on their stack.
That night on the return of both vessels to the pier yet another command conference was assembled and a post mortem of the days events conducted.
Finally, after more than a week of day ops and several FM slide tune ups an opportunity for the C.O. to shine was presented.
The final day we began on the surface immediately in front of the Destroyer. They had us dead to rights on their sonar. Duh.
We dove the ship and with in 10 minutes we were alone once again. The C.O. was a little miffed. This was a giant waste of time, money and effort. These guys couldn’t find their ass with both hands.
It was time for a little lesson in humility. We began by getting in their baffles at time Zulu + 00:13. We remained there all day taking time to come to periscope depth often taking pictures and getting in some fire control practice at the same time. At the end of the time allotted for the exercise we were required to disclose our location. Since we were directly astern of the destroyer we moved to their starboard at a range of about 70 yards and directly on their beam with the attack scope sticking out of the water about 12 feet. Since a surface craft operates with their radar going all of the time we figured we had about two minutes before we were detected by the radar or by the lookout. As we moved along at 4 knots, the surface craft called out on the UQC (underwater phone) for us to show ourselves.
Not wanting to quit without making a statement our C.O. said “raise the #2 scope”. Every one knew this would more than double the radar signature as the #2 scope fairing was huge and we virtually felt we were had.
But, surprise! No notice. Now the C.O. was really irked. “Raise the radar mast”… nothing. “Raise the …16 mast”… nothing. “Raise the snorkel mast”. Nothing. “Broach the ship!” Nothing. Remember we were only 70 to 100 yards off the starboard beam. I could clearly see our counter part using low power on #2 scope and couldn’t believe we were undetected.
The C.O. went to the bridge. From there he ordered a green smoke loaded and fired on his mark from the signal ejector. The smoke crossed the bow of the destroyer only seconds after they saw us.
Granted, there were obviously some extenuating circumstances in the example sited above. But given that and what we already know about submarine operations and stealth it can only be a good thing that the last true naval war was WWII and that 52% of all tonnage sunk in that terrible conflict was sunk by 2% of the fleet. Those incredibly brave men in the sinking machines.
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