by Larry Bond
“In regard to your first question, ma’am. Yes, I believe we can recover the ROV. As to the second, again, I don’t know. If we can’t determine the cause of the failure, then we can’t safely use the tube to support ROV ops. Since no other tube is configured to deploy the ROVs, that would constitute a mission-critical failure.” Jerry intentionally used Patterson’s own words from that morning’s briefing to drive his point home.
“I see. And if you can determine the cause of the failure?”
“If we can isolate the root cause — and if we can correct it — we should be able to support ROV deployments, barring any complications from the fire. As to whether or not we continue the mission, that is a decision that you and the Captain need to make.”
“Fair enough, Mr. Mitchell. Now, how do you propose we recover the ROV?”
Jerry turned toward Emily and asked, “Emily, did you keep the emergency retrieval hardware and software of the NMRS in your ROVs?”
“Certainly. Once the ROV detects a loss of signal continuity with the control console, it assumes that the fiber-optic cable has been severed and returns to the launch point. Once there, it emits a series of knock, knock pulses to alert the submarine that its back and waits for the homing beacon to be activated. But Jerry, without the drogue, we don’t have a homing beacon and we can’t position the ROV properly for it to be recovered by the mechanical arm.”
“Then, I guess someone will have to go outside and manhandle Duey into position.”
“Wait a minute,” Hardy protested. “I will not authorize a dive that requires decompression. And at two hundred feet your bottom time is only a few minutes before decompression is necessary.”
“Actually, Captain, it’s five minutes,” boomed Reynolds as he came down the starboard aisle between the storage racks. “And I agree with you, sir, a decompression dive is risky business even with seasoned divers. With inexperienced divers, it would be unacceptably risky. But somehow I don’t think Mr. Mitchell had a deep dive in mind, did you, sir?”
“No, COB, I didn’t,” smiled Jerry.
“Very well, then. What is your plan?” Hardy was now as curious as the others about what Jerry had in mind.
“We’ll position Memphis as close as possible to the launch point, but we’ll be at periscope depth. Once we know Duey is nearby, the divers will go out and call him up to our depth. We can then push it into position where the mechanical arm can grab it.”
“But Jerry, how will you call Duey?” asked Emily. “None of your hull arrays can transmit at a frequency that Duey’s sonar can pick up.”
“True enough. So we rig a portable power supply to one of the spare drogues and the divers lift it over the side and point it down toward Duey. If we do this right, the ROV will be less than three hundred yards away and its sonar should be able to detect the homing beacon.”
As she listened to Jerry’s scheme, Emily’s face became bright with hope. “Yes, Yes! That should work. Oh Jerry, you’re brilliant!”
Jerry was uncomfortable with her enthusiasm. “Let’s hold off on the ‘brilliant’ stuff until after we get Duey back, shall we?”
Hardy was silent as he considered Jerry’s idea. His wrinkled brow and clenched jaw showed his reservations, his uncertainty that the risk was justifiable. Finally he approached Reynolds and asked, “COB, what would your bottom time be for a dive of seventy feet?”
“Let’s see, seventy feet with no decompression would give us about fifty minutes, sir. That should be more than adequate for the job.”
Hardy started pacing as he continued to mull over Jerry’s proposal. As he walked, Reynolds kept feeding him more information. “We have the proper dive gear, and there is very little current to speak of. We have plenty of daylight left, so visibility shouldn’t be a problem. The only way we could reduce the risk further would be to go diving in a swimming pool.”
“Very well, COB. I’ll authorize the dive,” conceded Hardy with a sigh. “I trust you’ll be the lead diver, but who will be your partner on this dive?”
“Mr. Mitchell, sir.”
“Mitchell?” Hardy sounded incredulous.
“Yes, sir,” Reynolds answered politely “He’s a certified Navy diver, he possesses the best knowledge on the ROVs of any diver onboard, and I believe he has some ice diving experience. I’d say that makes him perfect for the job.”
Patterson, Hardy, and Emily all looked at Jerry as if he was some sort of circus freak. All that undesired attention made him feel a little uncomfortable, so he tried to explain. “I did some ice diving in Wisconsin and Minnesota as a kid. It’s really quite a unique experience diving under an ice canopy…and…ahh, just forget it.”
Patterson and Emily both laughed, while Hardy slowly shook his head. “All right COB, I’ll get Memphis in position while the two of you get ready.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” responded Jerry and Reynolds in unison.
“I’ll break out the gear, Mr. Mitchell, while you finish giving your people their instructions,” said Reynolds.
“Okay, COB, I’ll be with you in a moment,” Jerry replied. Turning to Foster and Emily, he briefly discussed with them what they had to do to support the dive. Foster reassured him that tube three would be ready to receive the ROV, and Emily said it would take her twenty minutes to put together a portable power supply and connect it to one of the spare drogues.
Jerry found the COB at the far forward end of the torpedo room, removing the diving gear from their storage lockers. The paint on the lockers had been fried, but the lockers themselves were in good condition, as were their contents. Jerry was relieved to see that they had good crushed neoprene dry-suits to wear, but they didn’t have any insulated undergarments. This meant that he and the COB would get cold during this dive. It might take thirty minutes or so before they started to really feel it, but they’d still need a hot shower afterward.
After breaking out the gear from the lockers, it had to be moved to the crew’s mess, where they would suit up. Reynolds had several sailors lug the equipment up while he and Jerry went to their staterooms to change. Digging around in his locker, Jerry found the cotton sweatshirt and pants he’d brought and put them on, along with two pairs of socks. Back in the crew’s mess, Jerry found Reynolds already slipping into his drysuit. He tossed Jerry a container of talcum powder, which he applied liberally to the legs and arms of his suit before putting it on. After adjusting the neck, wrist, and ankle seals, Jerry put on his rubber boots and made sure that the boot and ankle seals overlapped. He did the same with the hood.
Reynolds then ran Jerry through the checklist to make sure the tank, regulator, gauges, and buoyancy compensator were all in working order. With that completed, all they could do was sit and wait for the sonar techs to find the lost ROV. They didn’t have to wait long. Fifteen minutes later, control called down to the crew’s mess to inform the divers that the ROV was close by and that it was up to them to bring it home. As Jerry and the COB started putting on their tanks, Bair came into the mess deck and told them that the starboard torpedo nest muzzle and shutter doors were already opened and that the mechanical arm had been extended. The floodlight on the arm would also be on and they were to use it as a navigation aid, if the visibility was not as good as they expected. He then wished them luck and issued a stern warning not to do anything heroically stupid.
As they picked up their masks, gloves, fins, and flashlights, Reynolds looked over to Jerry and said, “Time for you to become a true Bluenose, Mr. Mitchell.”
The wide grin on the COB’s face left Jerry feeling a bit uneasy. “Why do I get the impression that I should feel honored?”
“Because it is a true honor to actually swim in the realm of King Boreas. An honor that goes far beyond merely being sprayed down with seawater during the baptism.”
“Really? Well, I’ll take your word for it, Your Majesty. Just no more of that Prussian blue crap,” warned Jerry adamantly.
Reynolds laughed as he climbed the ladder up into the
forward escape trunk. For a moment, Jerry wasn’t certain that the COB would fit through the hatch. He was such a big man to begin with, and he now had most of his diving gear on as well. But with surprising ease, the COB deftly navigated the hatchway. After all their other gear had been handed up, Jerry started climbing up the ladder.
“Press your chest onto the ladder, sir. That way you won’t snag the hatch seat,” coached Reynolds. Once Jerry’s tank was clear of the hatchway, Reynolds reached down and bodily pulled him up into the escape trunk. After being set down on the grate, Jerry called down, “Is that drogue and power supply ready?”
“Right here, sir,” responded Boyd. Jerry then heard a guttural, “Umph!” Followed by, “Sir, if you don’t mind, I could use a little help.”
Reynolds knelt on the grate and helped Jerry grab the large box in Boyd’s arms. It was rather heavy, and even the COB had to exert himself to lift it into the escape trunk. “Son of a buck!” Jerry exclaimed. “I thought Davis was going to make this thing portable!”
“Well, sir, it is — kinda. You can move it.”
Jerry was unimpressed and showed his concern. “Petty Officer Boyd, if we take this thing out of the escape trunk, we’ll go straight to the bottom.”
“Uhh, yes, sir, we know, sir,” replied Boyd with a smile. “That’s why we made sure there was enough umbilical cabling so you don’t have to remove the power supply from the escape trunk. Dr. Davis says all you have to do is point the drogue down over the starboard side and push the black button. As long as the button is depressed, it’ll keep transmitting the homing beacon.”
As Jerry pulled the cabling into the trunk, Boyd and Greer lifted the drogue and pushed it up into the trunk for the two men to grab. As they lifted the drogue, Jerry noticed that it weighed almost as much as the power supply. There were two metal gas bottles taped to it, too, one on each side. “What the hell are these for?” he asked, pointing to one of the cylinders.
“It was Dr. Davis’ idea, sir. They’re empty. She said their buoyancy should make the drogue easier to handle once you’re out in the water.”
“Would you please thank her for us, TM2? And we’ll see you when we get back.”
Once everyone was clear, Reynolds shut and dogged the lower escape trunk. With the hatch closed, Jerry repositioned the drogue and the cabling so that he and the COB had at least a little room to don the rest of their gear. “It’s a bit tight in here, isn’t it?” remarked Jerry tensely. As Jerry started to put on his fins and gloves, Reynolds saw that he was agitated, uneasy. As the COB put on his fins, he glanced over at Jerry and asked, “Nervous?”
Jerry let out a brief sigh and then admitted, “No COB, I think a better word is ‘scared.’ I’ve never left a submerged submarine before, and I’ve never made a dive hundreds of miles from the nearest shore.”
“That’s okay, Mr. Mitchell. It’s all right to be a little scared. I actually prefer it that way because I know you’ll be more careful. Now, once we get out there, we stay in each other’s sight at all times. There is no reason for us to be apart, understood?”
Even though Jerry was an officer and Reynolds a senior enlisted man, Jerry knew that the COB had the authority of experience, and in this situation, he gave the orders. “Understood, COB.”
“Okay, then,” said Reynolds as he opened the valve. “Let’s get wet!”
Below the grate, Jerry heard the rush of seawater as it quickly began to fill the escape trunk. He could feel the temperature inside dropping sharply on his face as the water rose up over his feet. Reynolds reached down and scooped up some seawater and swished it around in his full face mask. As he put it on, he leaned over to Jerry and shouted, “If you think the dousing I gave during the Bluenose ceremony was bad, you ain’t seen nothing yet!”
Jerry did the same, but waited until the last minute before pulling the mask down over his face. As he adjusted the straps, the frigid arctic water rose over his head. Suddenly, a sharp chill clawed its way down Jerry’s back, as a few drops of seawater slipped between the facemask and his dry suit. The unexpected cold caused Jerry to inhale sharply. Reynolds shook his head, a broad smile on his face. Moments later, the trunk was filled with water and Reynolds opened the upper hatch. A small amount of air bubbled its way to the surface.
Reynolds exited first and then reached down for the drogue. Jerry handed it to the COB, and after making sure that the umbilical cable wouldn’t get caught on anything, pulled himself out onto Memphis’ hull. The sea that greeted Jerry was grayish-green in color and the visibility wasn’t too bad. The sail of the submarine was clearly discernable, but the rudder was harder to make out. Looking up, he could see the ocean surface. The sun was bright and rippled by the low waves. Jerry heard a long, low moaning sound in the distance: whale song.
Jerry’s heart rate increased significantly, as did his breathing. He had to force himself to breathe more slowly, and he tried to think about things that would soothe him. He had to calm down or he would expend his air too quickly. Reynolds motioned with his light for Jerry to follow and they swam past the sail, looming darkly to one side. When they reached the weapons shipping hatch, a dull glow could be seen over the starboard side. It was the light on the retrieval arm.
Jerry tapped the COB on the shoulder and motioned for him to give Jerry the drogue. Reynolds passed it to him, and with the drogue firmly under his arm, Jerry swam about twenty feet away from Memphis. He then pointed it down and pushed the button. He had no way of knowing if the homing signal was being transmitted or not. The frequency of the pulses was about twenty times higher than the human ear could possibly hear. All he could do was keep his position in the water and press the button.
After about five minutes, Jerry’s eyes made out a very dim, ghostly cloud that seemed to be coming toward him. He pointed his flashlight at Reynolds and then swept it down in the direction of the faint glow. Reynolds looked downward for a few seconds, and then he suddenly looked back up at Jerry and gave him the “okay” sign.
As Duey came up, Jerry could see that it was still too far away from the sub, so he kept on transmitting the homing signal. He hoped that as Duey got closer it would adjust its speed as it tried to find the docking signal. True to its programming, the ROV did indeed slow as it got closer and closer to the drogue. This gave Jerry an idea.
Signaling for Reynolds to follow, Jerry started swimming down toward the starboard tube nest. Holding the drogue about two feet from Memphis’ hull, Jerry and Reynolds watched as Duey obediently followed the homing signal. When it was about ten feet away, the bright lights on the ROV turned themselves off. The light and the camera assembly then retracted itself back into the ROVs body and Duey seemed to coast the remaining few feet. Reynolds then reached out and wrapped his huge arms around the ROV’s midbody. Jerry released the drogue, which bounced harmlessly against the acoustic tiling on the submarine’s hull, and he too grappled with Emily’s lost “baby.”
For the next fifteen minutes, the two of them wrestled with the ROV as they tried to get it into the reach of the mechanical arm. After a lot of tugging, pushing, and shoving, they finally managed to coax the vehicle toward the open torpedo tubes. All of a sudden, they felt a jolt and heard a sharp metallic noise as the retrieval arm finally captured the ROV. Both men quickly moved away from the vehicle and watched as Duey was gently guided back into torpedo tube number three. Just to be sure, they stayed until both shutter doors were closed. Then they retrieved the drogue and made their way back to the forward escape trunk.
Once they were safely inside, Reynolds shut and dogged the outer hatch. As he opened the drain valve, Jerry finally felt himself relax. He also realized that he was shaking. The cold had set in faster than he had originally thought, particularly around his hands, feet, and face. On top of that, his body ached from the exertion of playing tug-of-war with a recalcitrant ROV. When the air bubble in the escape trunk was large enough, Reynolds spit out his mouthpiece, and with shivering blue lips said, “Not too shabby f
or your first dive, sir.”
“Thank you, COB. It was an honor,” replied a very tired Jerry.
Seven minutes later, Reynolds opened the lower hatch and the two of them wearily lowered their gear — and themselves — onto the deck. With a little help, the two slowly walked to the crew’s mess. Jerry and Reynolds had just plopped down onto a couple of chairs when Bair showed up.
“Well done, you two! I guess I don’t have to tell you that Doctors Patterson and Davis are ecstatic over your successful recovery of the ROV.”
Jerry could only nod in response to the XO’s compliments. He was pleased they had succeeded, particularly for Emily’s sake, but he really needed to warm up before he could celebrate.
“For your outstanding efforts, I’m awarding you both a fifteen-minute hot shower. Otherwise, we wouldn’t be able to thaw you guys out until tomorrow morning.” Jerry appreciated the XO’s humor almost as much as the idea of a long hot shower. As the two divers started to remove their gear, Bair slipped over to Jerry and whispered, “The Captain wants to see you in his stateroom in forty-five minutes. Don’t take too long, okay?”
Somehow Jerry knew this was going to happen. Hardy still wanted to pin the blame for this disaster on someone, and he expected Jerry to give him that someone. Again, Jerry nodded his acknowledgment of the XO’s message. Twenty minutes later, hot fresh water was pouring over his cold body.
Jerry was still getting dressed when he heard a knock at the door. “It’s Emily Davis, Jerry.”
“Wait one,” he answered and quickly pulled on his coveralls and zipped them up. Still in his stocking feet, he opened the door. “Please come in.”
He motioned her to a seat, but she shook her head and remained standing. With Hardy waiting, he felt a little rushed, and sat down to put on his shoes.
“Jerry, I want to apologize for the things I said earlier.”