Three Knots to Nowhere (18 page)

My brain tried to connect these particular noises with a summertime foray on the small body of water.

I opened my eyes. Darkness surrounded me. Confusion swirled in my mind. A perplexing dim light was nearby.

I heard someone softly saying, “Dubay, Dubay. Hey, Ted.”

My fog-enshrouded head turned towards the sound. With eyes slowly focusing, I tried to comprehend the source.

They encountered the kind face of Third-Class Sonar Technician E.K. Lingle, the messenger of the watch. I checked my watch. He had let me sleep as long as possible. If I wanted breakfast before relieving the watch, I had to hurry.

Reality gradually dawned on me.

I had been dreaming.

In actuality, I was aboard the nuclear-powered submarine USS
Henry Clay
. She was somewhere in the Pacific. It was several weeks into my first patrol. Her slow rolling motion told me she was at periscope depth. Connections evolved between my dream and present situation. Both involved an association with water. The cool air emanating from my rack's air conditioning vent equated to the wisps of a cool breeze. Sun-warmed air surrounding me matched the tepid atmosphere in the submarine. We were still cruising in tropical water and the
Clay
's air conditioning system barely kept the inside of the boat cool. While getting dressed, I assessed the disparities of the conditions between my actual circumstance and those in the dream. I was not surprised about having such an apparition; it was wishful thinking.

I found no novelty in my first patrol, having already experienced extended time submerged during shipyard testing and the transit to Hawaii. Like the other two occurrences, electrical maintenance and pursuing qualification in submarines and nuclear watch stations filled my off-watch time.

My current circumstance had a difference: the end of my qualification process was in sight.

I had one more under-instruction (UI) electric plant control panel watch. I would be standing it under the tutelage of Davis. His presence was a mere formality. After many hours of study and practice, I knew all of the necessary procedures and was proficient at operating the electric plant control panel's touchy controls.

In a few weeks, I would complete the progression through submarine qualification and earn my coveted set of Dolphins.

These tasks helped suppress the agony of not knowing Frank's reaction to my unrecoverable letter.

I entered crew's mess. It was breakfast time. Eggs were not rotten yet, so I ordered two over-easy, bacon, and toast. A glass of tomato juice completed the meal.

Davis was already eating and I sat with him. Between mouthfuls of steak, scrambled eggs, hash browns, and grits, he asked if I was well rested.

I told him I was and wondered why he asked.

He put on his most innocent expression and explained that it was my last Under Instruction (UI) watch and he would not be surprised if the engineer threw some interesting casualties at me. He'd want to make sure I was ready to go solo as electrical operator.

He saw my crestfallen reaction. “Don't worry. You know how to handle anything they can come up with. After all,
I
trained you!”

He erupted with his typical good-natured laugh.

After eating, we headed aft to maneuvering.

On the way, thoughts of drills (responding to planned plant casualties and abnormal transients) swirled through my mind.

Being able to handle all aspects of the operation of the submarine, both good and bad, was paramount. Drills kept the crew trained to the highest levels.

Nucs maintained their expertise several ways. For an FBM, when one crew was on patrol, the other underwent countless hours of instruction. Unfortunately, the nuclear-trained sailors could not receive practical training on equipment associated with the nuclear reactor. We could only practice when on the submarine, via drills.

Ninety percent of the time, submarines operated where the ocean bottom was well below crush depth, a precarious position. Even though conducted in a controlled environment, drills put a submarine in an even more perilous situation. If the nuclear-trained operators did not take the proper measures, it would spell doom.

We initiated most engineering drills by physically operating a component. Sometimes it was a valve. On other occasions, someone manipulated an electrical switch. In either case, they negatively affected actual equipment. Even though I was competent and had confidence in the abilities of my shipmates, drills made me uncomfortable. Unfortunately, they were a necessary evil. There was no other way the Navy could train us to react to real problems.

Upon reaching the watertight door between machinery 2 and the engine room, I deftly passed through the opening. The performance was a far cry from my first futile attempt many months ago. The hot, humid air of the space made me catch my breath. Sweat quickly coated my body. Standing between the ships service turbine generators were Southerland and Souder. Southerland was relieving Souder as the upper level engine room watch. Both their faces had rivulets of sweat. I was grateful my watch station was in maneuvering, where it was much cooler.

Davis and I stopped at the doorway to the control room.

I said to the engineering officer of the watch, Mr. Jakucyk, who had already relieved his predecessor, “Permission to enter maneuvering and relieve the electrical operator.”

“Permission granted.”

Soon eight people filled the tiny space. Joining the three original watch standers (throttleman, reactor operator, and electrical operator) were their reliefs, plus the EOOW and me.

Davis and I were relieving Marchbanks. He gave Davis a quizzical look.

Davis said, “Pretend I'm not here. This is Eaglebeak's final UI.”

Marchbanks provided an update on the electric plant's status. “The electric plant is in a normal full-power lineup, with a trickle charge on the battery.”

A quick glance at the panel verified his statement.

He informed me about a small electrical ground. After he checked the usual culprits—galley range, deep sink, and clothes dryer—it went away on its own.

“I relieve you.”

Davis nodded in agreement.

Marchbanks turned to Jakucyk and said, “Davis, with Dubay as UI, has relieved me as the electrical operator.”

“Very well.”

It did not take long before all engineering spaces reported that the new section was on duty.

Davis settled into the space between the electric plant control panel and the
Clay
's curved hull. I sat on the panel's designated stool. Vince Dianotto was the reactor operator. Schweikert was the throttleman.

Anticipating the drills, I intently scanned the panel's indications. Dianotto and Schweikert were nonchalant, lapsing into a conversation about Dianotto's pet dog, Dino.

I was not paying attention to their discussion, until Dianotto said, “Dino acts almost human.”

While turning my head to comment on the statement, my eyes passed over the electric plant panel's instruments.

A slight deviation on one of the meters for the port ships service turbine generator caught my attention.

My body stiffened and senses sprang to full alert. The load carried by the #1 SSTG had decreased slightly. I held my tongue and performed a meticulous inspection of the rest of the panel. The initially identified parameter was the only one amiss.

Trying to maintain my most composed intonation, I reported to the EOOW, “Load on number one SSTG is decreasing. I suspect a loss of vacuum in the starboard condenser. All other indications are normal.”

The report caused everyone in maneuvering to focus more intently on the operation of the engineering plant.

Jakucyk contacted the engineering watch supervisor to investigate the condition locally.

He had barely completed directing the needed instructions when the effects of the loss of vacuum suddenly became more severe. It had worsened to the point where the change was noticeable on the steam plant control panel's indications.

Schweikert reported, “Vacuum getting worse in the starboard condenser. Shaft turns are decreasing.”

While the EOOW was responding to Schweikert's statement, I rose from the seat, preparing to take action.

I stated, “Recommend shifting the electric plant to a half-power lineup, on the number two turbine generator.”

Mr. Jakucyk responded, “Shift the electric plant to a half-power lineup on the number two TG.”

As soon as my steps were completed, the reactor plant control panel siren wailed and the steam plant control panel's horn honked.

Dianotto immediately flicked the required switches and simultaneously announced, “Reactor SCRAM.”

The reactor was now shut down and not producing enough heat to make the needed steam for driving the propulsion turbines. Schweikert shut the throttles and rang up all-stop on the engine order telegraph.

As Charlie had done with the propulsion turbines, I had to secure the remaining turbine generator to keep from removing too much heat from the reactor. I twisted the proper knobs and operated switches. This shifted the source of the
Clay
's electrical power from the remaining turbine generator to the
Clay
's main storage battery.

In parallel, the EOOW selected the 1MC microphone from an array hanging in the overhead. It allowed him to make an announcement throughout the submarine.

Jakucyk cleared his throat. He calmly spoke into the microphone, “Reactor SCRAM. Rig ship for reduced electrical.”

His announcement alerted the entire crew of the casualty. It also set into motion actions to turn off non-essential electrical equipment.

By the time he finished speaking, I had completed the electrical transition. Until the reactor operator restarted the reactor, my main job was monitoring how long the battery would last. Minimizing the drain on the battery was essential for maintaining the
Clay
's silent mode of operation. The submarine's storage battery was very large but could only last so long. If depleted, it forced us to start our emergency diesel generator. Because the diesel was an internal combustion engine, it needed an air supply to run. To accomplish this, the submarine had to rise to periscope depth. When the snorkel mast was above the surface of the water, it drew in the required air. Although the diesel provided electrical power much longer than the battery, it had its limits. The USS
Henry Clay
, like her sisters, did not have an inexhaustible supply of fuel oil. Minimizing its use conserved fuel for real emergencies. Additionally, it was very noisy and compromised the silent nature of an FBM.

By monitoring the amp-hour meter, I saw the drain on the battery slowing down. It told me that rigging the ship for reduced electrical was in progress. Others in maneuvering were aware of the same fact, without being able to see the meter. The temperature in the little space was rising rapidly. The cooling was a non-essential load. Soon we were sweating as much as Southerland and Souder, at the beginning of the watch.

The condition would continue until the reactor produced enough power to support operation of at least one SSTG. In order to accomplish that, sailors had to find and correct the cause of the SCRAM and loss of vacuum. Watch standers outside maneuvering frantically worked to accomplish this, with the assistance of the casualty assistance team (CAT). One of the CAT members, Marchbanks, was in maneuvering wearing a 2JV headset. It was his job to relay communications between maneuvering and the rest of those in the engineering spaces.

Before long, we received good news. Southerland had corrected the loss of vacuum.

The cause of the SCRAM was still unresolved. The amp-hour meter was steadily clicking, as the battery continued to drain. If it depleted much more, we had to commence snorkeling and relieve the battery with the diesel generator. Just in time, sailors corrected the problem that was preventing us from restarting the reactor.

Mr. Jakucyk ordered, “Dianotto. Commence a fast SCRAM recovery.”

“Commence fast SCRAM recovery, aye.”

Before long, the reactor was critical and producing enough heat to support the propulsion turbines and the SSTGs.

The EOOW ordered me to place the electric plant in a half-power lineup on the #2 turbine generator.

In parallel, Schweikert answered bells on the main engines.

When I completed the ordered electrical alignment, Mr. Jakucyk directed restoring to a full-power lineup.

After I performed the needed actions, the engineer appeared in maneuvering's doorway. He nodded, smiled, and told me to report to the wardroom for an electrical operator board.

Davis said, “Good job. Hand me your qual card. I'll sign it off. Like I said before, you know everything needed to pass with flying colors. Don't let them rattle you.”

He was correct. At the completion of the qualification board, the captain deemed me qualified on my last nuclear watch station.

One milestone completed and one to go. My next goal was earning my Dolphins. Up to this point, I'd been maintaining the minimum allowed progress towards submarine qualification. With qualifying as electrical operator behind me, I no longer had to split my limited spare time between two time-consuming tasks. Becoming a fully accepted submariner was right around the corner.

About a week later, I walked by the mess deck. Bingo night had just ended. Because I was not qualified in submarines, I couldn't participate. O'Heiren, the man whose watch broke the evening before we left on patrol, stepped out of crew's mess. He had a huge grin.

Spying me, he held up his left arm and showed me the watch he had won playing bingo. He was elated.

Before I had a chance to respond, he disappeared down the passageway so he could show others.

When I saw O'Heiren the next day, he was wearing a dejected expression.

His current mood was a puzzle. The last time I'd seen him, he was in a great mood, so I asked what was wrong.

He pulled up his sleeve and exposed a bare wrist. His new watch was not there.