Three Knots to Nowhere (8 page)

The most significant pieces of equipment were two oxygen (O
₂
) generators. They used very high temperatures to transform seawater into oxygen and hydrogen gas. The O
₂
generators discharged the hydrogen overboard. The submarine stored the oxygen in tanks. Sailors periodically bled oxygen into the submarine's atmosphere to replace what breathing consumed. The O
₂
generators were essential to prolonged submergence. An inexhaustible source of seawater and properly functioning O
₂
generators meant submariners never ran out of air. The O
₂
generators were nicknamed the bombs. The crew feared them even more than the torpedoes or missiles. As dangerous as the O
₂
generators were, the
Clay
never had a problem. Joel McCann was a master at their upkeep and operation.

I got down on my hands and knees. The position allowed me to peek through the deck hatch. Crammed against the forward bulkhead was a small supply office.

The hovering tanks were under lower level's deck
.
They held the submarine at a stable depth for missile launches.

Davis and I returned to machinery 1 upper level. At the aft end of the compartment was a watertight door. Below it was an ominous yellow and magenta sign: PERSONNEL DOSIMETRY REQUIRED FOR ENTRY DURING REACTOR OPERATION. NO BUNKING OR LOITERING IN MACHINERY SPACES. The middle of the sign had the radiation symbol. Unlike the other hatches, this one was closed. The sign and the lock on the door created an imposing warning. I felt as if they were saying: Beware, all ye who pass this portal.

Davis said, “Now it's going to get interesting. The other side of that hatch is the nuclear engineering spaces.”

As hard as it was to gain access to a nuclear-powered submarine, it was even more difficult to enter its engineering spaces. I acknowledged the honor bestowed upon me. Not only was I permitted to enter the area, the Navy trusted me to operate the equipment. Graduates of Nuclear Power School manned the watch stations in the engineering spaces.

I preceded Davis to the hatch. Recalling my previous difficulties with similar openings, I hesitated. Then I mustered enough bravado to appear confident. I opened the door and awkwardly passed through without injury. I secretly congratulated myself on applying hard-earned lessons.

We were in the reactor compartment tunnel. It had shielded bulkheads and deck. The shielding provided safe passage over the reactor compartment.

The tunnel was about twenty feet long. The forward end was roughly ten feet wide, with flat bulkheads up to the curved hull. Low to the deck and on opposite bulkheads were oval yellowish lead glass windows for monitoring steam generator water level sight glasses and inspecting the reactor compartment. There was a four-foot-diameter circle in the center of the deck. Under it was the reactor's refueling hatch. At about the tunnel's halfway point, it necked down to six feet wide. There was a watertight door on the port side of the narrower portion for entering the reactor compartment. Securing the hatch was a chain and padlock. At the aft end of the tunnel, three steps descended to the watertight door to machinery 2.

I peered through the port lead glass window. A steam generator filled my view. The window's nearly opaque yellow and the reactor compartment's dim lights prevented me from discerning other components. The nuclear reactor sat in the middle. Large pipes carried the reactor's heated water to the bottom of two steam generators. Pumps transported the cooled water exiting the other side of the steam generators back into the reactor. Steam pipes from the tops of the generators sent steam to the propulsion turbines, turbo-generators, and support auxiliaries.

Davis descended the stairs at the aft end of the tunnel, stopped, turned, and said, “Directly below me is the pressurizer.”

I recalled learning about the pressurizer at Nuclear Power School. Using embedded electrical heaters, it maintained a high pressure in the reactor coolant system. The elevated pressure kept the reactor coolant from boiling.

We entered upper level auxiliary machinery 2 and went down three steps to the main deck. Straight ahead was a passageway. Electrical distribution panels running fore and aft flanked the walkway's sides.

I saw they were two-sided. The panels contained the
Clay
's major circuit breakers. Electricians operated and worked on them. That was a downside of being a submarine electrician. We maintained all of the electrical equipment throughout the boat—lighting, receptacles, distribution panels, breakers, and all the electrical generators. If it was 120 volt AC and above or 125 volt DC, it belonged to the electricians.

The reactor control instrument panels were on the starboard forward corner. At their bottom were the SCRAM breakers. When any one of the breakers opened, the associated control rods dropped into the reactor and stopped the fission process. Legend had it that SCRAM was an acronym for Safety Control Rod Axe Man. The original reactor supposedly had one control rod suspended by a rope. If the scientists wanted to stop the nuclear chain reaction, a person with an axe cut the rope, and the rod dropped into the reactor.

Although the
Clay
's reactor safety system was much more sophisticated than that, it still used gravity, a constant of the universe.

The forward port corner held a sample sink for sampling the steam generators and the reactor coolant system.

We walked to the back of upper level machinery 2 and stopped. Stretching across the starboard half of the aft bulkhead was a workbench with a vice. There was an open watertight hatch in the middle of the bulkhead.

Davis leaned on the workbench, pointed towards the compartment's aft port corner, and mentioned it contained the engineering space's most important item. Curious, I walked over and investigated.

It was a “head,” containing a toilet, sink, and shower. Its light switch was on the outside of the room. On the inner bulkhead, there was a small latched door below the shower nozzle, about waist high. I twisted the latch and the door folded down, revealing a sink. The toilet was opposite the shower and sink.

The intended purpose of the shower was de-contaminating radiologically contaminated individuals. The sink and shower water shut-off valve was outside the little space. The same was true for the head's light switch. There was a metal loop instead of a doorknob and the door opened into the space.

Davis explained how sailors sometimes closed the outer valve and opened the one for the shower. When someone went in, the prankster quietly inserted a wrench through the loop, trapping the man inside. Then the light was turned off, outer valve opened, and the poor sucker inside received a cold douching.

Davis's eyes were alight with mirth and he emitted a mischievous laugh as he said, “Guys aren't allowed to get mad. It's their fault for not checking the valve before going in.”

I wandered back to the workbench and examined a voice tube. It was a simple but effective method for people to talk between different areas having high background noise. The voice tube was a dull brass vertical pipe, roughly two inches in diameter. At either end was a highly polished four-inch-long cone. The opening at the cone's end was approximately three inches in diameter. One person signaled another, by tapping on his end of the voice tube and then positioned his ear at the opening. The person summoned placed his mouth very close to his end and answered. The voice tube I was examining extended into lower level machinery 2.

Davis's eyes twinkled as he pretended to pour something down the tube.

I understood his intent. Because of having to get so close to the tube to speak, the person below was in a vulnerable position. The man in the upper level could dump water down the tube. If the man below wasn't alert, he got a face full. Recognizing the cues that it was about to happen, such as the talker speaking softly or mumbling, could save someone the embarrassment of having his head washed. I learned the person in the upper level was not safe either. Ingenious sailors would rig an air hose to the bottom end and blow water up the tube. It was a bit trickier, but possible.

I had heard that episodes like these were a common practice on submarines, but I'd never really believed it. As I observed the matter-of-fact way Davis related the tales and his apparent enjoyment, it appeared they were all true and then some. I was silently dumbfounded by the gleeful manner Davis dispensed the pranks and wondered if I would evolve into someone with a similar frame of mind. Maybe he was an exception. My gut told me different.

We climbed down the ladder to lower level machinery 2 and stood on a diamond-deck walkway. I re-oriented myself. We were at the back end of the compartment on the starboard side looking forward.

Davis pointed at a large horizontal cylindrical machine next to the starboard hull and told me it was one of the 300-kilowatt (kw) motor generators (M/Gs). The other was on the port side. They were remarkable machines. When the submarine's ships service turbine generator (SSTG) was producing power, the AC end of the M/G was a motor. The other end was a DC generator, which supplied DC loads and sent a trickle charge to the submarine's 126-cell main battery. On a loss of an SSTG, the electrical operator adjusted the M/G controls to reverse the operation of the M/Gs. The DC end transformed into a DC motor, powered from the battery. The AC end, which had been a motor, became an AC generator.

Dominating the middle of the compartment was the emergency diesel and its associated generator. Underway, the crew employed it whenever the reactor was not producing enough steam to operate the ships service turbine generators and there was not much juice left in the 126-cell main battery. The
Clay
would come up to periscope depth and snorkel.

On the aft bulkhead was the steam generator water level control station (SGWLC). Davis informed me the station was usually just called “Squiggle.”

We returned to the upper level. Davis deftly slipped through the hatch and entered the upper level engine room. I followed, but not nearly as smoothly.

The engine room's brightness surprised me. I looked up and saw a large hole aft where we were standing. Shipyard workers needed it for some of their work.

Since the
Clay
was in dry dock, most of the engineering systems were shut down. The engine room was devoid of the oppressive heat, humidity, and loud mechanical noises of ordinary operations. The Navy still required a few watch standers to monitor plant conditions.

The shutdown maneuvering area watch (SMAW) was in maneuvering. He maintained oversight of the reactor. The SMAW was also the senior watch station. The shutdown roving watch (SRW) was a machinist's mate and had responsibility for monitoring the mechanical equipment. The shutdown electrical operator (SEO) tended to the electrical gear. Unlike the other two watches, the SEO did not have to remain in the engineering spaces.

Maneuvering, the control room for the engineering spaces, was a few feet aft of us, on the
Clay
's starboard side, and segregated from the engine room by having its own air-conditioned enclosure. The reactor, electrical equipment, and steam plant were controlled from maneuvering, making it the nerve center of the nuclear-related machinery. It was even more significant to me. I had spent the past two years training and gaining experience, preparing myself for duty in maneuvering. An open doorway existed on the enclosure's inboard side facing the passageway. A chain stretched across the opening. From my angle, I could see only a small portion of maneuvering. I was itching for Davis to show and tell me about the control panels for operating the electric plant, reactor, and the main propulsion turbines. It was almost as if he could sense my anticipation and was withholding going over there on purpose.

I stifled my eagerness as Davis started again, “Those tall tanks with the sight glasses on either side of the hatch are the feedwater surge tanks.”

His eyes moved from my head down to my feet and back up. Then he ominously said, “Wow! You're the perfect size to fit inside them and work on the level indicators.”

I looked at the tank. It was not more than two feet square and eight feet tall. At the bottom, about six inches from the deck, as a manway for entry. I hoped he was pulling my leg.

Next to the starboard tank was a chrome ladder leading to the after escape trunk. The lower hatch was open. I could see the three large black shore power cables. They attached to connections in the escape trunk. The forward port corner held the lithium-bromide air conditioning unit and the 8,000-gallon-per-day distillation unit. The still processed seawater and made the
Clay
's fresh water. Engineering plant operating water usage had the highest priority. Personal showers were lowest on the list.

After what seemed to be an eternity, we walked a few feet aft. We were finally at maneuvering. I felt like a kid at Christmas, busting at the seams to open presents. I was about to get my first exposure to the control room of the USS
Henry Clay
's S5W nuclear plant, the fifth generation of Westinghouse's submarine design. Although I suppressed any outward signs, I could feel the excitement surging through me like an electric current.

Submarine school had briefly covered the S5W control room. I learned the
Clay
's power plant was worlds apart from S1C, where I received my initial nuclear practical training.

As I peered into the enclosure, I saw a dungaree-clad individual standing and facing the middle control panel. He was intently scanning the dials and recording readings.

After putting his clipboard down, he turned in our direction. He had “Horne” stenciled above his dungaree shirt pocket. Davis explained I was a baby nuc electrician fresh out of school, another non-qual puke he would have to lead by the hand for a while. Then he introduced us. Horne reached over the chain, shook my hand, and told me I could call him Jim. Davis remarked that they called him Horney Toad or just Toad.