by Larry Bond
“Very good, Starpom,” replied Petrov smartly. “Carry out your duties.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
4
MISSION BRIEFING
15 September 2008
Atlantic Ocean—100 nm SE of Subase New London
(39°55'N, 070°45'W)
* * *
The lookout was the first man down, followed soon after by Palmer and Hayes. “Chief of the Watch,” announced Palmer, “the bridge is rigged for dive, last man down, hatch secured.”
Jerry winced a little as he listened to the report. Technically, it was accurate. But Palmer’s voice still had a note of uncertainty to it. The chief of the watch acknowledged the report and then relayed it to LTJG Shawn McClelland, Seawolf’s sonar officer. McClelland had temporarily taken over as the officer of the deck, or OOD, while Hayes and Palmer prepared the bridge to submerge. This transfer of command ensured the safety of the ship while the men in the cockpit topside focused their attention on removing flat panel displays and other pieces of equipment that preferred not to get soaked. After a brief turnover, Hayes resumed his role as OOD and Palmer his as the junior officer of the deck (JOOD).
Looking down at the plotting table, Jerry saw the quartermaster of the watch point to a colorfully labeled position on the navigation chart and hold up two fingers. Nodding, Jerry turned and exclaimed, “Officer of the Deck, two minutes to the dive point.”
“Very well, Nav,” answered Hayes. “Mark the sounding.”
“Two nine eight fathoms,” replied the quartermaster.
. . .
It had been raining topside, and the discarded foul-weather gear added to the crowding and bustle as Seawolf prepared to submerge. Filled with control panels, mechanical and electrical equipment, the control room had about the same floor space as a large suburban kitchen.
The layout of the control room was similar to the older Los Angeles class, with the ship control panel and ballast control panel in the forward left-hand corner. To the forward and right was the entrance to the sonar room, and the five fire-control consoles directly aft of the entrance. The two periscopes were in the center of the space, flanked by two plotting tables, one on each side, and a series of command displays directly in front. While the normal watch in the control room was eleven or twelve men, additional watchstanders were required for the maneuvering watch. With the wet foul-weather gear taking up prime deck space, there was little room left for the captain and the XO. And nobody wanted to crowd the captain.
Rudel stood off to the side with Shimko and waited patiently for his cue. Upon hearing the sounding report, he maneuvered around the extra obstacles and stepped up to the periscope stand. “OOD, report.”
Although Rudel had said “OOD,” his gaze was firmly fixed on Palmer. Understanding his captain’s desire, Hayes said, “Mr. Palmer, make the report.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” Palmer responded nervously. Then, after taking a deep breath, he began his lengthy report on the ship’s status. “Captain, the ship is on course one six five at all ahead flank, making two four knots. The ship is rigged for dive. We are about one minute from the dive point and the ship’s inertial navigation system is tracking with GPS. We hold one contact on radar; bearing 180 degrees, range two five thousand yards. Contact is past CPA and opening. Sounding is two nine eight fathoms beneath the keel. Request permission to submerge the ship, sir.”
The captain took in the report while maintaining full eye contact with Palmer, who fidgeted under his CO’s scrutiny. Although Rudel already knew everything that his JOOD had just told him, it was navy procedure to go over it again to ensure that everyone in the ship’s control party was operating with the same information—especially the junior members. He then glanced over at the ballast and ship control panels to verify the boat’s readiness to submerge. Satisfied, he turned and looked toward Jerry.
“Navigator?”
Jerry answered, “Mark the dive point, sir.”
“Very well, Mr. Palmer. Submerge the ship to one five zero feet.” In spite of the bustle, Rudel spoke in a conversational tone. Palmer echoed the captain’s order, “Submerge the ship to one five zero feet, aye.” Reflexively, Jerry checked the ordered depth against their plotted position and the fathometer. Plenty of room—now over three hundred fathoms, or eighteen hundred feet, beneath them.
Palmer then passed the order on to the diving officer, who in turn leaned forward and repeated it to the planesman and the chief of the watch. The three men echoed it back in unison. Six back-and-forth repetitions of the exact same simple order might seem a little tedious, but well-drilled procedures weighed lightly compared with the price of a mistake.
“Dive! Dive!” announced the chief of the watch over the 1MC, the ship’s main announcing circuit, followed immediately by two blasts of the diving alarm. WREEEEEE, WREEEEEE.
“Dive! Dive!” he announced a second time.
Once the word had been passed that boat was about to submerge, the diving officer paused momentarily, waiting. After about ten seconds, he looked over at Palmer, who was at the number two periscope looking forward. “Off’sa’deck, request ahead two-thirds.”
“What?” responded Palmer, puzzled.
Hayes quickly came beside him and whispered, “We need to slow down, Mr. Palmer. It won’t do to bend a periscope on our way out now, would it?”
“Yes, sir. I mean, no sir,” Palmer replied. Then, struggling to regain his composure, he said, “Helm, all ahead two-thirds.”
“All ahead two-thirds, helm aye.” Reaching down to the engine order telegraph, the petty officer rotated the handle that shifted an arrow from “Flank” to “2/3.” A second arrow on the dial soon followed suit. “Maneuvering answers ahead two-thirds.”
“Very well,” said Palmer, followed immediately with, “Thanks, Dive.”
Acknowledging the comment with a nod, the diving officer proceeded with the business at hand. “Chief of the Watch, open the forward main ballast tank vents.”
“Open the forward main ballast tank vents, aye.” A few toggle switches later, the green bars shifted to red open circles on the ballast control panel or BCP. “Diving Officer, forward main ballast tank vents indicate open.”
Palmer trained the periscope forward and rotated the optics downward. Six towering geysers of air and water vapor leapt from openings on Seawolf’s bow as seawater rushed into the ballast tanks from below and pushed the air out through the vents. “Venting forward,” he reported.
“Venting forward, aye,” responded the diving officer. “Open aft main ballast tank vents.”
“Open the aft main ballast tank vents, aye.”
Rotating the periscope around toward the stern, Palmer saw a similar eruption from the four after vents. “Venting aft.”
Unlike World War II fleet boats that were designed to quickly flood their ballast tanks and “crash dive” under the waves in less than a minute, Seawolf took her sweet time getting under. Like all nuclear-powered submarines, she was designed to stay submerged for long periods of time and wasn’t burdened with the need to surface often like the older diesel boats. The requirement for rapid submergence had been replaced by virtually unlimited underwater endurance and high speed. Furthermore, Seawolf was four times the size of a fleet boat and the increased tankage just took longer to fill. When the time came to submerge, Seawolf sort of waddled her way down, but once all the way under she transformed into a graceful sea creature, completely at ease in her element.
“Rig out the bow planes,” ordered the diving officer.
As the ship control party continued with the diving procedures, Jerry watched Palmer supervising the evolution. One of Jerry’s duties as the senior watch officer was to provide the XO with an evaluation of Palmer’s performance, and he wanted the report to be based on factual observations, not fantasy. So far, Palmer seemed to be doing okay. Not great, but okay.
A couple of mechanical clunks told Jerry that the bow planes had been extended and locked. After a quick tes
t, the helmsman was ordered to put ten-degree dive on the bow planes. The effect was immediate as the planes forced Seawolf’s bow downward, driving her under the waves. The video monitor showed the forward part of the hull burrowing deeper into the ocean; the venting geysers becoming more of a bubbling mass.
While the view was spectacular, it was also unnerving. Palmer should be doing 360-degree scans as the boat dove. Once again he had allowed himself to become fixated on a single aspect of this highly complex process. Jerry wasn’t concerned for the safety of the ship, as Hayes was on number-one scope and was keeping a vigilant circle search, but the lack of attention on Palmer’s part didn’t encourage confidence in his abilities. And if the captain didn’t have confidence in a JO, he wouldn’t get qualified. Fortunately, Hayes quickly recognized what was not happening and coaxed Palmer to resume a proper search.
Jerry’s brooding was interrupted by the diving officer’s next report: “Off’sa’deck, stern planes tested sat. I have the bubble, sir. Stern planes to ten-degree dive. Proceeding to ten-degree down bubble.”
“Very well, Dive,” replied Palmer.
With the stern planes in the act, the deck started to dip toward the bow. The force of the water on the depressed stern planes quickly caused the boat’s hull to rotate downward, driving her under the sea. The diving officer watched both the gauge on the ship control panel and the inclinometer attached to the bulkhead. Like a carpenter’s level, a gas bubble indicated the amount of the ship’s tilt as it approached the ordered ten-degree down angle. The reference to the ship’s angle by the position of the “bubble” was firmly rooted in submarine tradition, if somewhat antiquated.
“Depth five five feet,” called out the diving officer.
Palmer acknowledged the report as he kept up his circle search. Going around and around on the periscope, while necessary, was also tedious and somewhat tiring, even with a power assist to help turn the scope. “Dancing with the fat lady,” as the periscope watch was called, could give a person a good workout.
“Depth six zero feet.”
“Decks awash,” Palmer reported.
The diving officer kept on announcing the increasing depth, and after the seventy-foot mark, Palmer announced, “Scopes under. Lowering number-two scope.”
Simultaneously, Hayes lowered the number-one periscope. From start to finish it had taken Seawolf almost eight minutes to dive. Pretty much par for the course, thought Jerry as the quartermaster noted the time in the ship’s log.
Ten minutes later, Seawolf was at 150 feet and with a satisfactory slow speed trim. All balanced out and in her natural environment, she could now truly begin their journey north.
Jerry listened as the captain set Seawolf’s course and speed in a northeasterly direction at sixteen knots. By reflex, he double-checked the plotted course against the captain’s orders. Open water lay before them for hundreds of miles. He noted that the time of the next course change was several days away.
Captain Rudel stayed in control until after the watch had turned over, then headed aft toward his stateroom. The XO followed, announcing “Briefing at 1300” before he left. It was only a reminder. Not only had the briefing been part of the plan of the day, but out of the 130 men aboard, only a handful, Jerry included, knew the details of the boat’s destination and mission. There was more than a little curiosity.
With the maneuvering watch secured, Jerry returned to his stateroom and got busy collecting his briefing materials. He was providing the visual aids, as the XO put it, for the briefing to the CO and the rest of the wardroom.
Wardroom, USS Seawolf
* * *
Lieutenant Commander Shimko finished presenting Seawolf’s planned track. “And here’s the part we all like. Course two seven zero, then two two five. West and southwest to home. Total voyage time seven weeks, two days, and change. All things considered, a fairly short northern run.”
The packed wardroom held thirteen of Seawolf’s fifteen officers, along with Master Chief Hess, the chief of the boat. Lieutenant Commander Lavoie, the sub’s engineer, had the watch in control while Lieutenant (j.g.) Todd Williams, the ship’s damage control assistant, was back in maneuvering. When the wardroom was used for meals, the officers would eat in two shifts, and it was still a tight fit. With the space this full, everyone kept their elbows pulled in. Jerry had a little more space up front, because he had to handle the charts.
It had taken only fifteen minutes for the XO to lay out their planned course and describe their mission. Shimko didn’t waste words. He expected a routine transit, a smooth mission, and a speedy return home.
“Mr. Mitchell.” He turned to Jerry. “This is a very packed mission plan. Can you keep us on schedule?”
Jerry caught the XO’s tone. “Well, sir, there’s construction on the turnpike. If we take the bypass . . .”
Everyone laughed, a comfortable joke among officers comfortable with each other and pleased with their new assignment.
Shimko announced, “Our torpedo officer will now describe exactly how the UUVs will be used on this op.”
Lieutenant (j.g.) Palmer, standing near the doorway, pulled some notes out of his shirt pocket. He didn’t try to move from where he stood.
He unfolded the notes and paused for a moment. “The vehicles we are carrying are prototypes of the Advanced Development UUVs. They have high-frequency imaging sonars and precision underwater mapping software. The high-resolution imaging sonar will allow us to collect precise bottom bathymetric data. There is also a special camera module that can take seven-megapixel digital photos of the bottom or anything interesting that it comes across.
“Each UUV is fitted with a GPS and inertial navigation system, and they’re smart enough to follow complex instructions. Seawolf will get in range of an ‘area of interest,’ typically about five nautical miles. We will launch one of the three vehicles—Maxine, Patty, or LaVerne.” Those who hadn’t heard the three names before, but understood the reference, smiled or chuckled; Palmer didn’t pause. “Each has an endurance of about sixty hours, but we expect each mission to take no more than forty-five, allowing a fifteen-hour margin.
“We can communicate with one acoustically within seven nautical miles, or by SATCOM, which gives us the flexibility to be much farther away. We can preset times when a UUV will come up to a shallow depth, find a safe hole in the sea ice, and listen for instructions. It can also use the same procedure to take its own GPS fixes.
“We won’t be able to see what a UUV has found until it returns to the boat. The imaging sonar returns almost photographic-quality images, but the acoustic modem would choke on that much data. We’ll download the detailed bottom data after the UUV is recovered. Instead, we’ll get basic data—a usable picture of the bottom, position, course and speed, and so on, as long as we’re within that seven-mile acoustic comms range.
“When a UUV completes a mission and returns to the boat, it will need about two hours’ maintenance. Basically, while we’re sending one out, one will be running a survey, and we’ll be servicing or recovering the third. We don’t charge the lithium-thionyl-chloride batteries on these UUVs. The energy sections are completely replaced. That shortens our turnaround time.”
The XO asked, “Questions?”
“Sir, what if we have problems with the UUVs?” Lieutenant Will Hayes was main propulsion assistant. The engineering department would not be directly concerned with survey operations, but it was an honest question.
Shimko looked to Palmer. The torpedo officer only paused for a moment. “Losing a vehicle would be bad, but would only cost us one or two sorties at the very most. And those could be made up if we stayed on station a little longer. The consumables can be used by any of the three vehicles. We’ve loaded the top starboard torpedo tube with the mechanical arm that recovers the UUVs. We can use any of the three other starboard tubes for actually launching or recovering them. I’ve laid in extra repair parts for the arm, the control console, and the handling equipment. Barrin
g a catastrophe, we can fix all the gear underway.”
Hayes and everyone else seemed satisfied by Palmer’s answer.
Chandler then raised his hand. “Sir, if we’re doing this after the Russian training exercises are done for the year, why did we embark CTs and the ACINT riders?” The cryptological techs were enlisted men who were experts in electronic eavesdropping and would be spending a lot of time in the radio room and the ESM bay. Most could speak Russian, several were fluent in a couple of languages. Given their skill level, they were dramatically underpaid. The acoustic intelligence riders were hypertrained sonar technicians who would assist Seawolf’s own sonar shop.
Boats on intelligence-collection missions near foreign waters routinely carried CTs and ACINT specialists to actually gather signals and acoustic intelligence data and advise the captain on procedures and the conduct of the mission. They usually kept to themselves, and submariners had learned that “the riders” never talked shop.
The XO answered this question. “They’re aboard because we can’t be sure the Russians will do what they’ve done in the past. We will be monitoring their transmissions, if there are any. And since we’re looking at the seabed, we may find expended weapons or other matériel and if there are any markings, I’d like to know what they say.” He paused for a moment. “Although our ordered mission is to conduct precise bottom surveys, we will always use every opportunity to gather useful intelligence. Confucius says, ‘Man who search at night better use long candle.’”
While everyone laughed, the captain stood up. He nodded toward Ensign Santana, who turned on the ship’s announcing circuit and handed the microphone to Rudel.
“Attention, all hands. This is the Captain. Before we sailed, you were all told our mission would be up north, and would last just over seven weeks. Here’s the rest of it. After transiting to the Barents Sea, we will be surveying parts of the seabed there. We will also aggressively collect any intelligence we can on Russian naval operations. In the course of your work, you may learn more details about our mission. Do not discuss what you learn with other members of the crew or anyone off the boat without my express permission.