Tuesday, March 8, 2016

Longest Day Chapter 13

Living the Longest day        
The submarine service in the Navy could be good or bad. I missed my girlfriend that was a good thing. My work load on the other hand was a pain in the ass, keeping me real busy on the boat. The reality of my life was nothing ever stayed the same or was ordinary. We had to carry these special weapons now and then. This particular Mark torpedo was a bad thing. The security around this weapon was unbelievable. The secret was out, the weapon involved and paperwork was not at all fun. Astor Security watch at sea or at any given port was around the clock. We loaded these two torpedoes on board now and again. These torpedoes had a nuclear warhead, that if shot out a torpedo tube would not be good. This missile, I'll call the Hammer was designed to take out multiple targets. Like a convoy or maybe even the boat that shot it. The Hammer was a special kind of headache for sure. I was a qualified Astor security watch. This job required you to be in the same room with these bad boys. If you weren't on the access list to the torpedo room, I could shoot you. Twenty-four hours a day, the Hammer had to be monitored and protected from your own crew. The thing was... if we had to shoot it. The Skipjack would rig for depth charge and run as fast as possible in the other direction after firing. Don't you just love the guys that rolled this one out.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                            The Cold War was heating up. They were putting men on the moon, anti war protests all over the country. Civil Rights and Nixon in the White House. The late 1960's is at full throttle. I am now and was back then all about protecting the United States. This submarine was my job, somehow it seemed Waldo wasn't the only crazy one on the block. The summer of 1968, I'm nineteen years old and missing my girlfriend. Life was so simple on one hand, but the other not so much. These killer submarines were designed to sink nuclear subs that may threaten the United States or our friends. The Russians had more submarines than we, at that time. The games played between our countries were serious. The next adventure was a patrol to the North Seas again and real close contact with  our adversary's navy fleet. The blue nose special  to the heart of the enemy territory. We had painted the numbers off the sail. That was so the boat would not be to flashy at this party. I was not standing Astor watch just so you know.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                      This mission was to take a few pictures and make a head count. The crew was up for anything at this point. One of our own subs just lost at sea and we all suspected the wolf hound.  That said, not having the Hammer on board was probably a good thing. Time was going by slowly on station. My morning watch was getting started at 4 am. Coffee cup in hand, I head up to the control room, red goggles over the eyes. The room was rigged for red. This to protect the officer's night vision. The stern planes are next to me and the candy-man has taken over his chair. The helm and sail planes are my seat. People are changing watch behind us and the officer of the deck has the conning tower.  He is reviewing the chart positions of the sleeping fleet above our heads. Twenty or so warships sitting right above us, this bay is full. The enemy coast line is twilight by the summers glow. The conning officer says, make your depth, periscope level. I said, aye aye sir, repeating the order. This action requires a slow rise and by no means expose the boat. I call out the rising depth as we go up. the submarine is at a crawl as far as speed. The attack scope starts to move up from the well. This is a narrow shaft that doesn't leave much of a trace on the surface to see. The officer is bent over slightly with his arms over the handles and eyes in the view finder. The periscope still rising to full position. This is a routine maneuver to do a head count and then compare to our active chart info. This enemy fleet and most of our crew is fast asleep on the early morning rise. The Skipjack's skeleton crew is running the show.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                          Life in slow motion, as my worse nightmare starts to unfold. Sonar has done a sweep of the area, there is nothing to report. I'm still calling out the depth by smaller increments now. The last few feet to the surface's periscope depth. There is a loud screeching of scraping metal. The whole boat heels over. The officer behind me is being tossed out of the conning tower's platform. He's thrown from the pitching periscope. The leak now is spraying icy water down the back of my neck and everywhere else. The instantaneous thunder and more crushing steel on top of our heads. Candy-man and I push both wheels down without orders to full dive. The captain is now on the platform in his underwear relieving the now bleeding from the head, officer of the deck. The cold seawater is hissing through bearing as the machinist mate armed with a grease gun shows up. The periscope flooding into the control room has been stopped by tightening the gasket around the base with a grease gun. The overflow in the periscope well is being addressed at the same time. The next deck below and home to the battery floor hatch. Now covered with mattresses to protect it from the saltwater. Battery acid and seawater can cause chlorine gas and kill everyone, this isn't a fun time. You could hear an alarm sounding from the whale, we had hit above us. The boat down angle is punctuated by the planes men auto response to the collision. The downward thrust by hitting this object above us, also a factor.  The captain ordering rudder and planes to neutral. The depth was increasing anyway.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                        The boat crashing into the bottom of this bay, it was not a soft landing. The crew is now wide awake some of us saying prayers  under our breath. The submarine just sitting on the bottom. The Russian Fleet is now on full alert. Sonar is reporting the screw noises of many ships on the hunt.  Wolf hounds now looking for our hare. The captain confers with all compartments for damage reports. The off duty crew is ordered to their bunks, ultra quiet is a good term. The boat seems sound and we are in no immediate danger so far. We need to move out of this bay to open water, post haste. The fact, we are the fastest submarine on the planet. We could out run any of their ships, this did make a good case for our survival. That said, the boat needed to get off the bottom slowly. The destroyers and faster patrol boats were off to close the entrance to the bay ahead of us.  We blew some air into the ballast tank. The sub rose from the bottom. The captain orders full speed ahead. Bang, bang and bang,  the bell is ringing, all stop!!! is ordered. The periscope is pounding into the sail area above our heads, more grease is applied to stop the seawater.  The problem the periscope can't be retracted. The observation is made the scope is bent down horizontal to the superstructure. Therefore we are now a bell and dong.
                                                                                                                                                                             This would give away the Skipjack's position and be a death blow for sure. Time is measured in slow inhales and exhales. The boat moves slowly, very slowly to the rhythm of the dance. This slow crawl probably saved all of our lives. It took us days to clear the area. Their forces rushing to catch us. The darkness was our friend as we surfaced somewhere out at sea a few days later. The team is on the bridge to cut the periscope off at the bend and again below the sail. the front of the superstructure crushed in. Transmission of this news to the powers that be, probably made waves all the way to Washington. We were okay and could still operate. These men had rallied together as a team. They pulled this rabbit out of harms way. The paper work and interviews were almost as bad as the event. The good and bad of Navy life, returning to Norfolk outside the tender in the dark. The next day a blanket covering the broken sail, the whale incident over. Praise the crew, we all survived. This really didn't happen but I have a great imagination.... now don't  tell.... sailors are great lairs too...

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