Spy Sub: A Top Secret Mission to the Bottom of the Pacific

by Roger C. Dunham

  Spy Sub: A Top Secret Mission to the Bottom of the Pacific

  Roger C. Dunham

  Spy Sub is the tale of a top-secret submarine named Halibut that lowered miles and miles of special cable along the bottom of the Pacific Ocean in order to investigate a sunken Soviet sub. The mission was such a success that the Halibut itself received a Presidential medal in a secret ceremony. It's a true story, even the part about the sub getting a medal. Roger C. Dunham, a nuclear-reactor operator on board the Halibut during the mission, provides a firsthand account of an aspect of Cold War espionage that has only recently begun to surface. To this day, the Pentagon refuses to acknowledge such missions, in all likelihood because they are still going…

  Roger C. Dunham

  Spy Sub: A Top Secret Mission to the Bottom of the Pacific

  Acknowledgments

  The confidential nature of this project prevents credit to many people who are well deserving of tribute for their assistance. I received encouragement and help from several of my shipmates, and I am thankful for invaluable assistance from Chief Warrant Officer Sandy Harless, USN (Ret.); Captain C. E. Moore, USN (Ret.); and Senior Chief Petty Officer Gary Patterson, USN (Ret.). Sandy Munroe and Val Muth provided encouragement and helpful information used in developing the story. John P. Craven, Ph.D., provided details that were useful in many ways, and four individuals working with the Department of Defense, whose identities must remain unknown, provided valuable assistance and guidance. The long hours of editing by my wife, Keiko, helped me to resolve many technical matters. I also greatly appreciate the editorial assistance of Terry Belanger.

  Richard Whiston, JD, provided generous assistance and availability during the challenges of manuscript development. The recounting of personal experiences by Max Brown, senior vice president, CaliforniaCare Health Plans, was helpful to certain important aspects of the manuscript. Joseph Lord and Alvina Lord gave me invaluable access to military channels for which I will always be appreciative. Historian Sue Lemmon, Mare Island Naval Shipyard; David Stumpf, Ph.D.; and FTB1(SS) Don Merrigan, USN (Ret.), provided encouragement and valuable technical assistance.

  I am especially thankful to the men who served with me on board our submarine during the difficult times of the late 1960s: from "Mathews," who almost lost it all, to "Lane," who paid far too high a price, and from the men who taught me nuclear operations to those who learned them from me. These were the people who believed in our mission and made it successful. Like those currently dedicating their lives to our country, these men were the finest of our society. They brought a high degree of credit to the Submarine Service of the U.S. Navy. That I was privileged to serve as their shipmate was a great honor.

  About the author

  Roger C. Dunham, M.D., served in the Submarine Service as a nuclear reactor operator during the 1960s. Following honorable discharge from the U.S. Navy in 1969, he attended the University of Southern California, where he was elected president of the Premedical Honor Society. He graduated from the University of California, Los Angeles, School of Medicine in 1975.

  Dr. Dunham practices full time as a board-certified specialist in internal medicine. He has served as chief of staff of a Southern California medical center for eight years and is currently the medical director of a multispecialty health care system. He is the author of two medical thrillers, Final Diagnosis and The Anthrax Diagnosis, and a screenplay, The Diagnosis.

  Dr. Dunham and his wife, Keiko, have been married for twenty-eight years and have two children, Rochelle and Stephen.

  This is a true story.

  The mission of the USS Viperfish (not the submarine's real name) was top secret.

  Technical modifications are employed to protect the intelligence interests of the U.S. Navy Submarine Service. The names of the crew are changed to preserve the privacy of the brave men who served in this elite branch of the Navy during the events chronicled in this story.

  Prologue

  The lady had become a widow long before her time.

  Dressed in elegant attire appropriate for the formal gathering of United States and Russian government officials, she had been invited to the affair only because of the military stature of her late husband. This would be her last encounter with these officials; she knew there were no further ties between herself and those who planned such events.

  She spotted the cluster of American naval officers standing at the far side of the room. Their dark uniforms were resplendent with gold braid that gave testimony to their rank. As she slowly approached them, their hushed conversation abruptly died and their expressions showed the polite and detached affect of diplomatic propriety. They turned to accommodate her presence, and she hesitated briefly before speaking.

  Only a year before, her question would have been unthinkable, but improved relations and eased tensions between the two governments offered her promise of learning the truth.

  Looking into their eyes as if searching for an answer, she took a deep breath before she spoke. Her English was nearly perfect, with little dialect to reveal her origin within the vast reaches of the former Soviet Union.

  "Could you tell me what has happened to my husband?" The simple question seemed to burn through the air with a raging intensity. Her tone reflected the strength of feelings contained for many years.

  "Your husband?" the tallest officer said after a pause. He was polite and showed the proper degree of interest.

  "He was the captain of a submarine," she answered, her voice now carrying a trace of pride. "He was the commanding officer of the Soviet submarine PL-751, in the Pacific Ocean."

  "The PL-751?" another officer asked, his voice mildly curious.

  "You people called it an Echo submarine. My husband and the PL-751 never returned to Vladivostok."

  Their expressions did not change, and they showed no indication of any knowledge about the matter placed before them. As each looked to another for an answer, the firm voice of the older man on the left answered for them all.

  "I am sorry, but we do not know about this submarine or about your husband."

  Gazing across the room, the officer saw several tuxedoed men standing near the hors d'oeuvres table. He gestured with his drink in their direction.

  "Perhaps if you speak to the American Consulate, they will be able to assist you."

  The officer noticed her eyes beginning to redden and a look of despair on her face. "I am truly sorry," he repeated with genuine feeling as she turned and walked away.

  1. Reporting on board

  In Moscow on the cold morning of 29 March 1966, the Twenty-Third Congress of the Soviet Communist Party convened at the Kremlin for the first time since the death of Nikita S. Khrushchev. In his inaugural speech before the five thousand delegates of the Communist Party's supreme ratifying body, First Secretary Leonid I. Brezhnev called for world Communist unity as he acknowledged the rapidly deteriorating relations with the United States. He protested the "bloody war by the United States against the people of South Vietnam" and called upon the Soviet military forces to continue their achievements in science and technology.

  The delegates reviewed the Soviet report on military power that underscored the increasing size of their armed forces, including the Red Navy's impressive submarine fleet. They affirmed the strategy of maintaining 400 nuclear and conventional submarines in four major flotillas around the world, and they agreed to continue building their submarine fleet by 10 percent each year. The Pacific Fleet, second in size only to the massive Northern Fleet, contained 105 Soviet submarines. Many of these were of the lethal nuclear missile-carrying "E" (Echo) class
that regularly patrolled the ocean waters east of Kamchatka Peninsula.

  In contrast to this massive Soviet armada of submarine military power, the United States Navy possessed only 70 nuclear submarines; 41 of these vessels were designed to fire nuclear missiles and most of the others were fast-attack hunter/killer submarines. One of them, however, differed from all other submarines throughout the world.

  In the spring of 1966 at the Pearl Harbor Naval Shipyard near Honolulu, Hawaii, civilian shipyard workers finished a year of intense refitting on board the nuclear submarine USS Viperfish (SSN 655). As the Twenty-Third Congress of the Soviet Communist Party adjourned its meeting on 8 April 1966, the U.S. Navy completed the process of gathering together a volunteer crew of 120 men to serve on board the Viperfish. This crew of submariners, civilian scientists, and nuclear systems operators began one of the most remarkable top secret military operations in the history of the United States.

  The code name of this special mission was Operation Hammerclaw.

  There was no way for me to know that the nuclear submarine Viperfish was a spy ship when I received my orders to report for sea duty.

  The terse sentences on the order sheet arrived on a miserable day, a New London kind of day. Freezing winter winds blasted across the Connecticut submarine base, and the driving rain brought torture to anyone who dared to go outside. The drab buildings of the civilian city across the gray Thames River looked like dirty blocks of clay stacked along the water's edge. They seemed to fit perfectly with the dismal weather and the depressing area that must have been filled with people wanting to escape somewhere-anywhere. As a native Southern Californian who had just completed three years of submarine and nuclear reactor training, I not only craved a warmer world but I was also eager to begin the real work of running a reactor on a submarine at sea.

  I had turned in my "dream sheet" weeks before. Created to give direction to the complex process of assigning personnel to duty stations, the dream sheet at least gives the illusion that the Navy tries to match each sailor's desired location with the available slots throughout the world. I had "wished" for the USS Kamehameha, a Polaris submarine based in Guam and skippered by someone I had known before joining the Navy. The island of Guam appealed to me because of its warm water and proximity to Hawaii, in addition to the fact that it was as far away as I could get from the submarine base at New London.

  I paced back and forth within the protective interior of the musty barracks and studied the printed sheet of orders before me. The words were tiny, and I found it remarkable that such small words contained information that defined my future for the next three years: "You will report to the commanding officer of the USS Viperfish SSN 655 at Pearl Harbor, Hawaii."

  "The Viperfish?" I asked into the empty barracks. "What kind of a ship is the Viperfish?"

  Studying the orders, I searched for any kind of clue to define the vessel. She was a fast-attack nuclear submarine; the SSN (submersible ship, nuclear) before her hull number 655 left no doubt about that. Clearly, however, the Polaris option was out. The Viperfish was in Hawaii, the land of beautiful women and the aloha spirit, the land of warmth and excellent surf, the land that-compared with New London-was close to heaven. I scanned the order sheet again for clues about the future mission of the submarine.

  To my delight, my bespectacled machinist mate friend in submarine school, Jim McGinn, was also assigned to the Viperfish. Looking more like a scientist than a sailor with his wispy red hair and round glasses, Jim projected a deservedly scholarly image. He excitedly popped through the barracks door that afternoon, as he waved his orders, and asked me if I knew anything about this thing called the Viperfish.

  "I heard we're the only guys from our class to get this boat[1].

  It must be some kind of a fast-attack," I said, offering my best educated guess. We had just completed hundreds of lectures in submarine school, and we knew there were two primary types of nuclear submarines. The majority were the SSNs, the sleek, high-performance fast-attack submarines that engaged in war games of seeking and tracking enemy submarines on the high seas. The others were the "boomers," big, slow submarines, such as the Kamehameha, that functioned as submergible strategic ballistic missile launching platforms. Because the Viperfish did not carry the SSBN designation of a boomer, she had to be one of the Navy's hot fast-attack submarines.

  "But why doesn't anybody know anything about the boat?" Jim asked. "They know about all the other fast-attacks. I've asked everybody… The Viperfish is like some kind of a mystery submarine."

  "Probably because she's one of the newer ones," I said, "and her home port is at Pearl Harbor, on the other side of the world."

  Jim smiled and looked at the cold world outside the barracks window. "Thank God for that, in warm and beautiful Hawaii."

  Cursing the bone-chilling wind and rain, we crossed the base to the military library and pulled out the most recent edition of Jane's Fighting Ships and searched for the Viperfish. We first discovered that she used to be designated a guided Regulus missile-firing submarine. The range of the Regulus I missiles was five hundred miles, far below the thousand-plus range of the more modern Polaris missiles, although this range would be improved by the larger Regulus II missiles to one thousand miles. Each Regulus missile had stubby wings on either side of a fuselage carrying a jet engine that powered it to the target. When properly prepared in a time of war, its 3,000-pound nuclear warhead would then detonate at the appropriate time.

  Jim continued to study Jane's information and search for more clues about our submarine. "What class is the Viperfish?" he asked, referring to the general class that often identifies the mission of a naval vessel. When we found she was in the Viperfish class, we began to feel depressed.

  We both looked at the picture of the submarine and scanned the story. The Viperfish was definitely not a sleek vessel by any standard. She was commissioned in 1960 at Mare Island Naval Shipyard, with strange bulges and an unusual stretched-out segment in the front half of the hull, presumably to provide a stable launching platform for the five guided missiles previously stored in a hangar compartment within her bow. She was clearly not designed for speed, with a maximum submerged velocity of only twenty-five knots (compared with the forty-plus knots of most fast-attack submarines). Her superstructure was flanked with long rows of ugly-looking holes (limber holes or flood ports) along both sides, designed to allow seawater to enter the external shell of her superstructure during submerging operations.

  McGinn continued to read the description. "The Viperfish was originally intended to be a diesel submarine," he said, "but at the last minute, they changed their mind."

  "So they thought it might run better on nukie power," I said, "not having to run to the surface to pull in air for charging the batteries or running the diesel engine. Since I am a reactor operator, it is good that she has a nuclear reactor. Now what does she do?"

  We hunched over the book. "Nothing else here," Jim said. "Whatever she does, the Viperfish is a regular SSN, sort of. When they took off the missiles, they got rid of the G designation previously signifying that she carried guided missiles."

  I looked back at my orders. A tiny box at the corner of the sheet was labeled: "Purpose of Transfer." Within the box were the cryptic words, "For duty (sea)."

  What we did not know at the time was that the Viperfish had been further redesignated as an oceanographic research vessel during the SALT (Strategic Arms Limitations Treaty) talks. The fact that she carried a substantial firepower of live torpedoes did not change the benign research vessel designation; therefore, she escaped being counted as a nuclear fast-attack warship for the purposes of the treaty. At that moment, however, she appeared to be some kind of a weird fast-attack submarine that carried no missiles.

  I was becoming confused. "So she's a slow-attack submersible ship, nuclear-"

  "Called the Viperfish…even the name is strange for an attack submarine. What the hell is a viperfish?"

  We looked up the creat
ure in the dictionary and found nothing. An encyclopedia also did not consider the animal worth mentioning, so we finally turned to a dusty fish book with faded color photographs of sea life.

  "Here it is!" Jim said, pointing at a picture of a thick black fish with a huge mouth. "It's a deep-ocean fish with a hinged jaw and photophores that create a beacon of light…"

  "It eats dead fish, grabbing them whole as they sink to the depths below," I added, studying the picture showing a single blue eye located above a glowing red streak.

  "Viperfish. Couldn't they come up with a better name?"

  "Ugly fish, ugly submarine, eats dead debris."

  "With a huge glowing mouth. What are we getting ourselves into?"

  No matter how we tried to embellish the Viperfish, it did not look like a submarine that would ever do anything impressive. She was slow and ugly, and she had a strange name. We trudged back to our barracks and listened in silence to the other men talking excitedly about their assignments on board such vessels as the Dragonfish, Nautilus, and Scorpion.

  A couple of days later, McGinn and I left New London to spend time with our families before the final trip to Hawaii. When my friends in California asked about my submarine assignment, I could not avoid telling them. "Although the details are currently top secret," I said, with the secretive air of someone having insider classified information, "the Viperfish is one of those SSN fast-attack nuclear submarines equipped with state-of-the-art firing power. Furthermore, it is jammed with unique experimental military firepower, the only one of her class in the world.

  "No further information can be revealed at this time," I added in the hushed voice of somebody describing a CIA operation and left the rest to each person's imagination. In other words: "Don't ask any more questions, because nothing more can be revealed-it is all secret."