THE COMPLETE IDIOT'S GUIDE TO SUBMARINES

"This is the reactor compartment shielded tunnel. With the reactor operating critical, the compartment is a high radiation area. Inside the compartment itself, you wouldn't survive a half hour, but this passageway is lined with lead and polyethylene. The lead shields the gamma radiation, and the poly shields the neutron flux."

*NOTE Secrets of the Deep: You notice how quiet and cool and bright the reactor compartment shielded tunnel is, as if you'd stepped into the scrubbed operating room of a new hospital. This is the first space that isn't filled to bursting with piping and cables and odd equipment.

The overhead PA system clicks again, the voice announcing, "The reactor…is in the power range!"

"That means the system is ready to supply steam to the secondary loop," the duty officer explains. "Let's take a look inside the reactor compartment while we're here."

The duty officer stops at a chained and padlocked hatch, where he points out a thick window and mirror. You look into the reactor compartment, a space crowded with huge machinery. The duty officer points out the reactor shield tank, the pressurizer, the steam generators -- the boilers -- and the reactor recirculation pumps, then waves you further aft down the tunnel to another hatch.

A Steamy Time in the Engineroom

You step from this hatch, moving from the brightness of the reactor tunnel to the dimness of another space. You stare around you, again finding yourself surrounded by piping and cables and electrical panels and control handles.

"This is the aft compartment -- also called the engineroom," the duty officer explains. "It's hot because we're bringing steam into the engineroom to start the steam turbines. Come on."

At the hatch is an area of tall consoles.

The duty officer continues: "This is the motor control center, which has a number of breakers that control the electrical load centers, or buses, and the reactor inverters, which are devices that allow the reactor control rods to go up or down to control reactor power level. Come around this way."

You pass the entrance to a control room, and you stare inside at the four watchstanders and their consoles.

"This is maneuvering, the engineering spaces' control room. We'll come back in a moment," the duty officer says.

You walk aft on catwalks toward two huge cylindrical objects set into the deck on either side of the ship's centerline, the objects penetrated by huge pipes and valves.

"These are the ships service turbine generators. The reactor heats up water to steam in the boilers, the steam generators, and the steam comes here and spins these turbines." At the aft end of the turbines are large boxes of metal. "These are the generators. They generate electricity for the ship. Ironically, a large fraction of the power from these generators is used by the reactor itself." As you watch, two watchstanders open some large valves, and immediately a frightening sound roars into the space.

"They're starting the port turbine generator now. Let's watch."

The Scream of the Turbine Generator

A sound like a plaintive scream rises in the space, soon shaking you by the chest. The scream rises to a howl, then a shriek as the turbine spins up, and you are reminded of a jet engine starting. Soon the noise steadies to a loud high-pitched hum, the watchstanders busy around the machine. One of them trots to the door of the maneuvering room and shouts, "Port TG on the governor and ready for loading!" A boom sounds near the generator, startling you.

"Don't worry – when the breaker shuts, the turbine jumps as it is paralleled in. The turbine just came on line and is picking up the load that was carried by shorepower. Soon we'll divorce from shorepower and be on our own."

The PA's booming voice sounds again throughout the engineroom: "The electric plant is in a half-power lineup on the port turbine generator!" Suddenly the room becomes broiling hot and humid. Sweat breaks out on your forehead.

"Steam leaks!" the duty officer shouts over the roar of the turbine. "We have a huge refrigeration plant onboard, but whenever you put a steam plant inside a big pipe like a submarine, it's hot."

"The reactor," the PA system announces, "is self-sustaining!"

The turbine on the starboard side suddenly begins to scream as the watchstanders start it up. You watch in fascination as that turbine comes up to speed, a second jet engine in your ear. Another thump sounds, this one from the starboard side.

*NOTE Secrets of the Deep: You had heard that submarines were supposed to be quiet. But nothing could be further from the truth. Subs are noisy! On the inside, anyway.

"The electric plant is in a normal full power lineup. Engineering watch supervisor, report to maneuvering."

"The engineering officer of the watch -- the officer in charge back aft -- is about to have the shorepower cables removed. We need to hurry up and finish this tour."

The duty officer leads the way further aft between the turbine generators to two more steam turbines. "These are the main engines. As soon as shorepower is removed, the crew will warm these up." Aft of the main engines is a huge steel structure.

A Sub's Transmission: The Reduction Gear

"This is the reduction gear. It's sort of like the transmission on a car, and takes the high RPM (revolutions per minute) of the main engines, which are efficient at high speeds, and changes it to the low RPM of the shaft for the screw, since the screw is efficient at low speeds.

"Since the main engines rotate at thousands of RPM and the shaft at a few tens of RPM, the gear ratio is huge, which is why the reduction gear is also big.

"These are being changed out to electrical motors, because the reduction gear is one of the biggest noise sources. By the way, all the mechanical rotating equipment you'll see back here is mounted on highly engineered sound mounts to avoid making noise into the water. It may be loud in here, but out there -- " the duty officer shakes his head -- "nothing…Quiet as a hole in the ocean."

He steps down a few steps on a narrow catwalk to another machine. "This is the clutch, which will disconnect the drive train so this motor can turn the shaft. This is the emergency propulsion motor, or EPM. Further down the shaft line is the thrust bearing, which takes the pushing force from the screw and shaft and transmits the force to the hull, and the shaft seals -- which keep the water out of the 'people tank.' Now follow me."

*NOTE Subtalk: The shaft seals are a mechanism that allows the rotating shaft to penetrate the pressure vessel of the hull without seawater leaking in. They use auxiliary seawater, which is at a higher pressure than the water outside, to flush the shaft penetration bearing. The high pressure water keeps the outside water out. The trouble is that they unavoidably put a small amount of water into the bilges, which is collected and occasionally pumped overboard by the drain pump. One popular drill is flooding from the shaft seals, simulating a shaft seal failure with thousands of gallons of the deep blue sea pouring into the people tank.

When a nonqual airbreather comes aboard (a nonqual is a landlubber or newcomer to the ship who is not qualified in submarines and hence, somewhat dangerous, in addition to the fact of his theft of the crew's air, water, showers, laundry and ice cream), he is sometimes sent to the engineroom to "feed the shaft seals," expecting cute Seaworld animals to be back there bouncing balls on their noses. Amazing how many nonquals fall for that one.

He walks to a square hole in the deck, opens a safety chain and vanishes down a ladder. You follow him and step off onto the lower deck.

"This is engineroom middle level," your guide continues. "A lot of auxiliary equipment here: the refrigeration plants, engineroom freshwater cooling system, hydraulic equipment, and some other pumps. Let's go below."

He disappears down another hatch and ladder to yet another, lower, deck.

"Engineroom lower level. Home of the main seawater system, which brings seawater into those large heat exchangers there -- the condensers -- which take the steam exhaust from the turbines and changes it to liquid water so it can pumped back to the boilers to make more steam."

The duty officer walks forward past a maze of piping and equipment, the noise level not as loud as in the top deck, but still nearly deafening.

Meandering to Maneuvering

"Let's go up to maneuvering," he says over the din, glancing at his watch. "We need to hurry -- the captain will be looking for me."

Up another ladder to the middle level, another jungle of pipes and equipment, and back to the upper level, where the shrieking noise of steam turbines seems much louder. The duty officer walks to the side door of the nuclear control room.

"Request permission to enter maneuvering with a guest," he asks.

"Enter maneuvering," the engineering officer calls.

We walk into the small room. On the forward wall are three consoles with sloping lap sections, a vertical readout section and a sloping overhead section. Behind each console is an operator in a seat. The engineering officer of the watch stands behind the three operators. The console on the left has two large stainless steel rings resembling steering wheels.

"That's the steam plant control panel," he says. "The wheels are the throttles to the main engines. The outer bigger one is the ahead throttle. The inner one is the astern."

He points to the middle panel. "Reactor plant control panel. The reactor operator controls the control rods and the recirc pumps to produce heat for the secondary steam loop." He points to the last panel, the one on the right. "Electric plant control panel, which controls the breakers, the electrical buses, the motor generators, the turbine generators and the battery."

*NOTE Subtalk: Recirc is short for recirculation.

After a hushed conversation with the engineering officer and a phone call, he points to a panel over the engineering officer's seat. "That's the chicken switch panel. Each one of those levers does an emergency shutting of hull and backup valves to a seawater system in case of flooding."

The engineering officer of the watch smirks. "But if I shut the wrong one, we lose propulsion and go down faster," he says.

The aft wall is a dizzying array of panels, gauges and switches. As you look at it, an odd whooping noise sounds in the room coming from one of the phones. The engineering officer picks up the phone, his eyes on the duty officer.

Moving Forward

"Cap'n wants you forward," the engineering officer says. "Time to drive us out."

The duty officer nods and walks to the door, tosses off an inside joke to the engineering officer, and leads you forward, back through the reactor compartment tunnel and into the crew's mess. As you emerge from the engineering spaces to the forward compartment, you realize your shirt is soaked with sweat. You follow the duty officer forward to the steep stairs to the upper level, emerging into the now-crowded control room. The captain looks up at the duty officer.

"Duty officer, station the maneuvering watch."

"Station the maneuvering watch, aye," he repeats, and picks up a microphone. His voice comes out of the shipwide PA system.

"Station…the maneuvering watch!"

*NOTE Here's all you need to know about IC, or internal communications: The shipwide PA system is called the 1MC. The similar circuit used in the engineering spaces is the 2MC. The 7MC circuit is for ship-control communications. The 4MC is a circuit that pipes in a sound-powered phone handset into the 1MC in the case of an emergency (See Submarine Emergencies), sort of the submerged equivalent of dialing 911.

The sound-powered phone handsets are mounted in each compartment on each level. They don't need electricity to work – just the energy of a voice. They are the refined version of two soup cans with a string. The JA circuits are used up forward, and the 2JV back aft. A frequent 2MC announcement is "Engineering Watch Supervisor, 2JV," which means that the EWS needs to pick up the phone. The Dialex is a phone circuit using electricity, just like the phones at home, and can dial station-to-station, including to the staterooms and goat locker.

The sound powered phones use a crank operated noisemaker. The crank is a small motor that when cranked, generates a current that is sent, via the selector switch, to the station you are calling. If you select "maneuvering" from the control room, the maneuvering JA circuit noisemaker will suddenly go "whoop!" Yet another thing to startle the nonqual rider.

When your phone whoops, pick it up and announce the station, not your name, and certainly not "hello." Example: "Maneuvering" or "Control" or "Torpedo Room." By the way, on a phone circuit, the long-drawn-out pronunciation of "maneuvering" is said, "manurrn." Similarly, the officer of the deck is either called "OOD," pronounced "OD" or is called "Off'sa'deck." The nonquals freak out when they hear on the phone circuit, "Off'sa'deck, manurrn."

"Follow me," he says. "We're going to the bridge. Now that maneuvering watches are stationed, I'm no longer the duty officer, I'm the OOD -- the officer of the deck. That means I'm in tactical command of the ship."

*NOTE Subtalk: The officer of the deck does the captain's job, if your information comes from "Star Trek." He sits in the command chair, gives orders to the helmsman, the radiomen, the sonar chief, the engineering officer of the watch, etc.

The captain is above it all, supervising the actions of the OOD remotely, from the aft part of the control room, from his stateroom or from the end chair at the wardroom table while watching a movie with his officers (a good submarine captain loves movies, and has memorized all the lines). Mischievous captains will sneak aft and attempt to surprise the nukes (the nuclear qualified engineering watchstanders) by seeing if he can scram the reactor before they can stop him (See Submarine Emergencies).

The officer of the deck has the deck and the conn. Having the deck means being in charge of the ship's equipment. Having the conn means being in charge of the ship's course, speed, depth and tactical weapon employment. You don't drive a submarine, you "conn" her.

Sometimes the OOD relinquishes the conn to the captain. If you are on watch as the OOD and the captain comes into control and sees that you are "standing into danger" (risking the ship's safety), he will give the helmsman a rudder or speed order. When he does, he has automatically taken the conn. You announce in a loud voice, "This is Lieutenant Smith, the captain has the conn, I retain the deck." The navigation technician will make an entry in the deck log: "0130: CO has conn." When you have the deck and the conn and are relieved by the oncoming OOD, he will announce, "This is Lieutenant Jones, I have the deck and the conn!" The watchstanders will all acknowledge: "Nav ET, aye!" "Radio, aye!" "Diving officer, aye!" "Helm, aye."

There's no bigger thrill than announcing you have the deck and the conn on your first solo watch as a qualified OOD. I'll never forget the night, 410 feet beneath the Atlantic, at midnight, when I said those words for the first time. The first thing I did? I lit a cigar, of course, in violation of the captain's standing orders, but for those six hours, it was my control room and my ship.

"What's the bridge?" you ask.

"Top of the sail. Where we conn the vessel while on the surface. You don't drive a submarine, you 'conn' it. I'll have the conn on the way out of Norfolk."

He steps up to a ladder under a hatchway and climbs up. You follow him into a dimly lit tunnel, up twenty feet to another hatch. "OOD to the bridge!" he shouts, and a grating above the hatch is removed by someone above. He climbs up and you follow him.

View from the Bridge

The grating is lowered back over the hatch, and you stand on it, a bit nervous about being almost three stories above the deck below, then look around you. You are in a cubbyhole, surrounded on all sides by black metal walls up to your elbows. Far below you is the hull of the ship, the pier on the starboard side. Forward is the Plexiglas windscreen and the slowly rotating radar antenna. Aft is the top of the sail, where the two periscopes are raised, and behind them the radio mast is partially raised.

"Climb up to the top," orders the OOD.

You step up to the top of the sail, to a small area surrounded by stainless steel handrails -- the flying bridge. The captain is normally the only person allowed to stand there. The OOD remains down in the bridge cockpit, close to the bridgebox communication panel. You look around again, and from the crow's nest vantage point you can see for miles. A tugboat is lashed to the hull on the water side, the port side.

"Captain to the bridge," a voice calls from the access tunnel. The grating is lifted and the commanding officer climbs up to join you on the flying bridge.

After waiting for the lines on the hull to be singled up and the gangway to be removed, the captain nods at the officer of the deck. "OOD, your report?"

"Captain," the young OOD says, craning his neck to see the captain on the flying bridge, "the electric plant is in a normal full power lineup, main coolant pumps running in slow speed, answering bells on both main engines, answering all stop and spinning the shaft as necessary to maintain the main engines warm. The fix holds us pierside, with visual fix in agreement with GPS navsat and SINS. All lines are singled up and the tug is tied up forward port. The subnote is received onboard, granting us permission to get underway. All preunderway checks are complete and sat with minor discrepancies. All spaces rigged for dive with the exception of the deck and the bridge, rig performed by Ensign Rancourt and checked by me. The executive officer recommends getting underway. Captain," the OOD concludes, taking a breath, "request permission to get underway."

Getting Underway

The captain's eyes squint in a serious warface as he looks down at the OOD. "Let's go," he orders.

The officer of the deck puts a megaphone to his lips and shouts down to the deck, "Take in all lines!" Down below, the deck crew frantically pulls in the heavy lines from the pier as the pier deck hands toss the lines over. As the last line is disconnected from the pier bollard, the OOD pulls on a lever, and a deep blasting horn blows from the sail, the OOD letting the horn blow for a full fifteen seconds.

"Tells the harbor we're underway," the captain says as he lifts a pair of binoculars to his face and scans the channel.

"Shift colors!" the OOD barks, and the enlisted lookout hoists a large American flag from behind the flying bridge. The OOD talks into a radio: "Tug One, this is U.S. Navy submarine, stand by for tug orders."

The captain leans over to you. "He can't identify us at the Hampton for security reasons. On an open circuit, we'll always just be 'U.S. Navy submarine.' "

"Roger," the radio blasts.

"We use tugs to avoid breaking the fiberglass sonar dome," the captain explains as he watches the maneuver. "And also because submarines handle like pigs in shallow water next to a pier with no speed on."

"Tug One, back one third," the OOD commands. The tug's diesel engines roar as it throttles up and pulls the ship gingerly away from the pier.

"Tug One, ahead one third," the OOD orders. He picks up a microphone and says, "Helm, Bridge, all ahead one third, right full rudder."

The bridgebox crackles to life: "All ahead one third, right full rudder, Bridge, Helm aye. Maneuvering answers all ahead one third, my rudder is right full, no course given."

"Very well, Helm," the OOD says, "Steady course north."

"Steady course north, Bridge, Helm, aye."

Taking Her Out

Slowly the ship turns in the Elizabeth River channel. The piers of Norfolk Naval Station rotate around the vessel.

*NOTE Ships of the Surface: The smart destroyers, frigates and cruisers of Norfolk Naval Station are an awesome sight. What a display of naval power. Further north the giant aircraft carrier Nimitz is tied up, towering over the other ships in the harbor.

"Bridge, Helm, steady course north!" the bridgebox rattles.

"Helm, Bridge aye," the OOD replies. "Helm, all stop."

"All stop, Bridge, Helm aye. Maneuvering answers all stop."

"Very well, Helm." To the radio, the OOD orders, "Tug One, take in all lines."

The tug crew pulls in their lines. The OOD shouts down to the deck, "On deck, rig for dive!"

The bridgebox blares with a new voice. "Bridge, Navigator, hold us center of channel, recommend maintaining course north to the turn point."

"Navigator, Bridge aye," the OOD replies.

The tug's lines are being coiled on her foredeck -- the deck forward of the sail -- as she backs away from the hull. Down on the deck the watchstanders hurriedly coil the lines and stuff them into line lockers, closing the locker doors with huge wrenches. Even the deck cleats are rotated back into the hull, so that the top surface of the submarine becomes completely clean and streamlined. It begins to look as if it has never been tied to a pier.

"Helm, Bridge, all ahead two thirds, steer course north."

The ship, now unencumbered by the tugboat, picks up speed in the channel until the aircraft carrier piers pass by down the starboard side.

"Bridge, Navigator, two hundred yards to the turn point. New course, zero nine one."

"Navigator, Bridge aye."

The base fades astern as the ship approaches the opening of the bay. The channel buoys mark the channel leading to the first bridge-tunnel at Interstate 64, crossing from Norfolk to Hampton.

"Bridge, Navigator, mark the turn!"

"Helm, Bridge, right full rudder, steady course zero nine one!"

The helmsman answers and the ship turns into the new channel. The bridgebox squawks with another new voice. "Bridge, Control, topside rigged for dive, last man down."

"Control, Bridge aye. Helm, all ahead standard."

"Now that the topside deck hands have gone below, the OOD can speed up," the captain says. The wind of the ship's passage picks up, flapping the flag behind you. Down at the bullet nose of the bow, the water begins to flow smoothly over the curving hull, then breaks evenly down either side of the ship, roaring up into waves amidships. Astern, the wake turns a frothy white, marking the ship's past. The ship turns to another new course as the I-64 bridge fades behind you. The buoys line up on either side of the channel like lights marking a runway as the vessel points toward the right gap in the Chesapeake Bay Bridge Tunnel.

"This is Thimble Shoal Channel," the captain explains, shouting over the wind and the bow wave. "This takes us out to sea off Virginia Beach. We'll turn to the south to follow the traffic separation scheme, then due east. Once we clear the channel we'll speed up to flank so that we can hurry to the dive point. We've got a six hour surface transit ahead of us until we can get to the 600 fathom curve. Once we're at the continental shelf, we'll submerge the ship to test depth, then continue to the op area at flank."

*NOTE Subtalk: Op is short for operation. Never say "mission" -- always say "op." The Op Area is the area shown on the classified chart where the ship will conduct the op. The unofficial term for op is run, as in, "After this run I'm going to buy a Harley" or "when the air conditioning unit went tits-up (broke), it turned into the run from hell" or "we went on a northern run and snapped up an Akula." (To "snap up" is to detect a submarine, and an "Akula" is a very capable Russian nuclear attack submarine.)

The next hour seems to melt away. All too soon Virginia Beach is shrinking in the wake. The captain orders the ship to speed up to flank speed.

Flankin' It

"Maneuvering, Bridge," the OOD orders, "Shift reactor recirc pumps to fast speed."

"Shift main coolant pumps to fast speed, Bridge, Maneuvering aye!" A moment passes. "Bridge, Maneuvering, main coolant pumps are running in fast speed."

"Helm, all ahead flank," the OOD commands.

Almost immediately the wind, already loud, roars into a hurricane shriek. The noise of the bow wave seemed as loud as a roaring truck before, but soon sounds like your ears are being sprayed by the violent blast from firehoses.

The bow wave climbs all the way to the forward edge of the sail and beyond, the water curving down on either side of the cylinder of the hull, the salt spray in your face even up on the flying bridge.

Amidships, the bow wave breaks into a violent froth, covering the aft deck behind the sail. Further aft, behind the rudder, the ship's wake becomes over a hundred feet wide, an arrow pointing back to Port Norfolk.

*NOTE Secrets of the Deep: It is fantastic to be aboard a submarine on a surface transit going flank. The sensation of pure speed, the feelings of the deck trembling with the power of thirty thousand shaft horsepower, the blast of the waves and wind, the squeaking of the radar mast as it rotates once every second, and the mad flapping of the American flag behind you are addictive. You'll realize at that moment why the crew do this, why they go to sea for months on end and leave behind the sun and the wind and the weather.

Rig for Dive

The captain orders the flying bridge disassembled, and you spend the next hours in the bridge cockpit with the officer of the deck, watching the merchant ships lumber by on their way to the international terminal at Port Norfolk, waving at sailboats, and enjoying the day until the sun sets astern.

The surface transit comes to an end as the OOD slows to ten knots and begins to break down the bridge. He transfers the OOD watch to the control room and passes down all the equipment brought to the sail, including the flag and flagpole, the windshield, the bridge communication box, the binoculars, the coffee cups, the grating over the hatch, the charts and the compass alidade.

You help him go through the bridge rig for dive checklist, then watch as he closes the doors -- the 'clamshells' -- that fair the bridge cockpit into the top of the sail. Before he shuts the last one, he tells you to stand up and take one last breath of real air, looking around at the dying daylight of the seascape.

Feeling silly, you do, then crouch down into the four-foot-high cubbyhole as he shuts the last clamshell, plunging the cockpit into darkness. The bridge is gone now, and if the sail were viewed from above, it would appear completely streamlined.

Take Her Down

You step down the hatchway down the ladder, and look up as the lieutenant shuts the upper hatch and spins the hatch wheel. Only the dim glow of single bulb lights the way as you lower yourself into the lower hatchway, and down the ladder to the control room.

The lieutenant shuts the lower hatch, then shuts the bridge access tunnel drain valve, checks it off on the checklist, and looks over at the watchstander outboard of the 747-style ship control seats.

"Chief of the Watch, bridge rigged for dive, last man down."

The chief of the watch repeats the news to the officer of the deck, who stands on the railed-in periscope stand, at the starboard Type 18 periscope, his hands on the horizontal grips, his face pressed to the eyepiece. The two officers talk quietly for a moment, and then Lieutenant Phillips reassumes the OOD watch. He steps up and takes over the periscope. In the forward starboard corner of the room a television screen shows the view out the periscope. It is a dimming seascape, only a sky and a horizon, with superimposed crosshairs.

"Two minutes to the dive point," a voice from the back of the control room calls.

"Very well, Quartermaster," the OOD replies. He beckons you to the periscope. "Take the periscope watch," he says. "Now that it's getting dark, we have to turn off the periscope video, so this way you can watch the ship submerge."

You step up and grab the periscope grips. Only the right eyepiece has a view. Out of it you see the ocean in the twilight, the waves small from high above the ship. It looks like the view out of binoculars, but the cross hairs with their range marks remind you that it is a periscope view. The optical electronics console extends all the way to the floor, and is hot on your chest. The OOD makes a remark about periscope watch being called, "dancing with the fat lady."

"The right grip controls the power. Click it up like this and the view is magnified." You try it, and the horizon jumps closer. "But keep it at low power. This button on the right grip helps you train the scope right. This one on the left helps you train the view left. Rotating the left grip will elevate the view up or down. Now, keep it in low power and do a slow circle search for surface ship contacts."

As you experiment with the periscope, the OOD shouts to the chief of the watch.

"Chief of the Watch, rig control for red!"

The overhead white lights click off, and the room turns red. The captain walks into the room.

"OOD, report," he says quietly.

"Mark the sounding," the OOD calls.

"Six five four fathoms!" the quartermaster replies.

"Captain," the OOD says. "Ship is on course one one zero at all ahead flank making two zero knots. Ship is rigged for dive. We are one minute from the dive point, sir, with ship's inertial navigation tracking the GPS navsat, confirmed by the navigator with a stellar fix. We hold no surface contacts by visual or sonar. Sounding is six hundred fifty-four fathoms. Request permission to submerge the ship, sir."

"Very well, Off'sa'deck," the captain says. "Submerge the ship to one five zero feet."

"Submerge the ship to one five zero feet, OOD aye, sir."

"Thirty seconds to the dive point!"

"Very well, Quartermaster."

"Mark the dive point!"

"Diving Officer," the OOD calls, "submerge the ship to one five zero feet!"

I Have the Bubble

The diving officer sits in the center seat behind the helmsman and planesman at their ship control console. He acknowledges the order: "Submerge the ship to one five zero feet, Diving Officer aye, sir." He picks up the shipwide PA system microphone and his voice rings out throughout the ship, "Dive! Dive!" He reaches into the overhead for the lever to the diving alarm.

You jump, startled at the sound of the diving alarm horn howling a deep OOOOOOOOOOH-GAAAAAAH just above your head.

"Dive! Dive!" the chief's voice announces a second time. "Helm, all ahead two thirds."

"All ahead two thirds, aye, maneuvering answers, ahead two thirds," the helmsman says.

"Very well," the diving officer says. "Opening forward main ballast tank vents."

"Train the periscope forward," the OOD whispers. When you do you see four geysers of water screaming vertically up out of the bullet nose. "Now call, 'Venting forward.' "

"Venting forward," you say.

"Venting forward, aye," the chief says. "Opening aft main ballast tank vents."

You look aft and see the same phenomenon of an eruption of water from the aft hull, four fire hoses pointed upward.

"Venting aft."

"Venting aft, aye, sir. Rigging out the bow planes." A moment passes. "Bowplanes extended and locked. Helm, take control of your bowplanes."

"Bowplanes tested, tested sat," the helmsman said.

"Helm, ten degrees dive on the bowplanes."

"Ten degrees dive, aye, my bowplanes are down ten degrees."

The bullet nose of the bow burrows deeper into the water, the geysers now submerged, some vapor still shooting up through the waves, until there is nothing forward except ocean. You train your view aft at the waves rising up the cylinder of the hull. The hull peeks out only between waves, then vanishes under the water.

"I have the sternplanes," the diving officer says. "Sternplanes tested in rise, tested in dive, sternplanes tested sat, I have the bubble, sir, and sternplanes to ten degrees dive. Proceeding to ten degree down bubble. Flooding depth control one to the halfway mark, flooding commenced. Tank at five zero percent, hull valve shut, backup valve shut."

The deck angles downward slightly. You look downward at the forward deck and see the waves coming closer.

"Depth five five feet," the chief reports.

The waves are approaching your view, below by ten feet. You do a low power search, and by the time your circle is complete, the waves are close.

"Six zero feet."

The down angle of the deck becomes steeper.

"Six five feet. Five degree down bubble."

The waves are much closer now, the speed of the ship making the water seem to zoom toward you. Soon the crest of a wave is above the level of your view.

To Test Depth

A burst of phosphorescent foam surrounds you for an instant, and the view comes out of the water again as the wave trough washes by. The view clears, the stars and the sky come back before the next wave crest splashes the view. One final trough comes, and then the crest hits the view and it becomes surrounded by the fireflies of the foam and a storm of bubbles. The light particles clear and you see the underside of the waves. Three waves roll by overhead, and then the sea becomes dark. The OOD takes the scope and announces, "Scope's under, lowering number one scope."

You gaze over at the digital depth gauge on the ship control panel, feeling the down angle of the deck. The ship pulls out at 150 feet. The diving officer works with the chief of the watch for twenty minutes, trimming the ship to neutral buoyancy before turning the speed of the ship back to the OOD. Finally the OOD reports to the captain that he is ready to go deep.

"Take her to test depth, OOD," the captain orders. "Steep angle."

"Helm, all ahead standard. Dive, make your depth one three hundred feet," the OOD commands. "Twenty degree down bubble. Rig ship for deep submergence!"

"Thirteen hundred feet, twenty degree down angle on the ship, aye, sir, and rig for deep submergence, aye." The PA system barks: "Rig ship…for deep submergence!"

The planesmen push their yokes to the panel and the deck tilts dramatically downward. A clatter of dishes can be heard from the deck below. The captain glares at the OOD.

"We're not stowed for sea, OOD. Get the executive officer up here."

"Aye sir."

Suddenly a booming noise roars overhead, and you instinctively duck down, your hands on your ears. The crew sees you and share amused looks.

"That's just the hull adjusting to the pressure," the OOD says.

The deck is now tilted downward so far that it is like standing on a stairway. The handrails and tables look crazy pointed so far downward. You hang on by a conn platform handrail, shaking as another roaring boom followed by a pop sounds overhead, the noise turning into a sustained long moaning sound, then rattles to a stop.

"Sir, ship is rigged for deep submergence," the chief calls.

Finally the ship levels off at her test depth, and you realize you are holding your breath, a quarter mile beneath the waves far above.

"Captain," the OOD says, "All spaces report -- no flooding, no leaks. Recommend proceeding to depth 546 feet and follow point of intended motion to the op area."

The captain nods wisely. "Very well, Off'sa'deck, proceed to 546 feet and chase PIM to the op area."

The deck rises up as the ship climbs from test depth to her cruising depth. From this point on, the run should be routine. As routine as anything can be on a submarine, you think.

USSDEVILFISH.COM Michael DiMercurio Princeton, New Jersey E-mail: readermail@USSDEVILFISH.COM