Three Knots to Nowhere (9 page)

Then Davis told Horne to check my profile and said, “We should call him Eaglebeak.”

I tried not to show any reaction to the comment. My face felt warm and I was sure a blush was providing evidence of my embarrassment. Neither appeared to notice, or they were showing kindness by not rubbing it in.

Horne mentioned needing to use the head. He suggested Davis relieve him. It would kill two birds with one stone. Horne would get his needed break and Davis could familiarize me with maneuvering.

Davis agreed.

I unhooked the chain across maneuvering's doorway. Davis and I entered.

Horne provided the typical SMAW turnover report, “Air in the banks. Shit in the tanks. Two-slow/two-slow. Rods on the bottom.”

After Horne left, Davis filled me in on the protocol for entering maneuvering. Everybody must request permission. It didn't matter who you were, your rank or status. The only exceptions were the captain, executive officer, engineer, and the engineering officer of the watch (EOOW). They had blanket permission.

Maneuvering was markedly cooler than the engine room. Davis related how engineering roving watch standers occasionally stood in the doorway for a respite from the engine room's oppressive environment. I could only imagine the difference when there was steam in the engine room.

While Davis reviewed the logs and indications, I familiarized myself with maneuvering.

I estimated that maneuvering was ten feet deep, from the doorway to its terminus at the submarine's curved hull. It was about six feet wide. Control and monitoring panels occupied most of the area. There were three main consoles, which filled the entire forward edge of maneuvering. Each had a sloped bench section, a vertical portion, and another aft-sloped upper section. The steam plant control panel was on the inboard end, by the doorway. The reactor plant control panel was in the middle, and the electric plant control panel was outermost. Directly aft of the reactor plant control panel and electric plant control panel were elevated chairs that swiveled and allowed watch standers to operate their controls without standing.

I was standing in an open space by the doorway facing forward. In front of me was the steam plant control panel. To my rear was a footlocker with a cushion on top of it.

An electrician's mates usually manned the steam plant control panel and was called a throttleman. Designers provided a round eight-inch seat for the throttleman. Because operating the throttle wheels required standing, it could be swiveled out of the way. I swung the seat away from maneuvering's port bulkhead and sat. Being too small and unstable, and not having back support, it was uncomfortable. Then I sat on the footlocker. I could lean back against the after bulkhead. It certainly wasn't as comfy as an easy chair, but it was much better than the round seat. After all, this was not a home; it was the control room of the
Clay
's engineering spaces.

Directly in front of me was the steam plant control panel. Its most notable feature was two chrome wheels. A large one, about two feet in diameter, was closest to the panel. The smaller one, about 18 inches in diameter, was several inches farther aft. Both wheels shared the same pivot point and protruded from the top of the lower portion of the panel. They looked like steering wheels. They controlled steam to the main propulsion turbines, which in turn determined how fast the submarine moved. The big one was for ahead bells. The little one admitted steam to the astern throttles, for backing. A loud bell rang if both were open at the same time.

An engine order telegraph was in the lower right hand corner of the sloped bench section. The right half of the dial had the ahead bells—⅓, ⅔, Standard, Full, and Flank. The left had astern bells—⅓, ⅔, Back Full, and Back Emergency. Speed changes were called bells because a bell dinged when the officer of the deck ordered a speed change.

Covering the center of the bench section were alarms and associated cutout switches. There was an array of dials and meters scattered on the remainder of the panel. With my head swimming, I stood. I squeezed by Davis and sat in the seat for the electric plant control panel, with hands clasped behind me. I figured this posture would give Davis peace of mind that I would keep my hands off the panel. It must have accomplished the desired effect, because he did not reprimand me. I did notice that his general body posture implied a readiness to prevent me from touching anything.

Electricians operated the
Clay
's major electrical equipment from this panel. The bench portion had an excellent one-line representation of the submarine's electrical system. There were two complete redundant trains. The left side was a mirror image of the right.

Davis described the icons, at the top of the mimic, going from left to right. The symbol furthest left represented the port ships service turbine generator (SSTG). Next were the emergency diesel generator (E D/G), the shore power connection, and the starboard SSTG. When the reactor produced enough power, two SSTGs were in service and the electric plant was in a full-power lineup.

I mentally traced the left portion of the plastic representation. The line went left and then down towards me. Then it proceeded to an icon for the 300 kw motor-generator. I recalled seeing it in auxiliary machinery 2 lower level. To the representation's right were two large black control knobs. They controlled the M/G's mode of operation. Exiting the M/G symbol, the plastic line continued down a short distance and took a ninety-degree angle towards the center of the panel. In the middle was a representation of the
Clay
's 126-cell battery. I looked at the right half of the panel. It was a mirror image of the left. Embedded at strategic places in both sides of the mimic were circuit breaker control switches.

The
Clay
's normal electrical configuration consisted of two electrically separated SSTGs. Each generator supplied its half of the electrical system, also called a train. The SSTG provided power to electrical busses, which supplied individual loads. The SSTG also drove the motor end of the M/G. The M/G's generator end produced DC power to various loads and kept the 126-cell battery charged. This was a normal full-power lineup.

Sometimes, one SSTG was unavailable. In this situation, the electrical operator paralleled the two electrical trains and powered both halves of the electrical system from one SSTG. This was a half-power lineup.

If both turbine generators were lost, usually because of a reactor SCRAM, the electrical operator used the M/G's black knobs to swap the AC and DC ends of the motor-generators. The DC end transformed from a generator to a motor and the AC end became a generator. The battery then provided all the power to the submarine. In order to conserve the battery, the crew rigged the submarine for reduced electrical power by turning off all nonessential electrical equipment. Designated compartment individuals aligned equipment according to bulkhead checklists. That extended the time the battery could supply power.

Various reasons required using the emergency diesel generator. When it is in service, sailors call it snorkeling. On patrol, the diesel was only used as the last resort. Even though it had special mounts to prevent transmitting noise outside the boat, it was still too noisy. The last thing an FBM wanted to do was give away its position to the enemy.

In port, shore power supplied electricity to the
Clay
. If there was a loss of shore power, the crew did not hesitate using the diesel.

I shifted my attention to the reactor plant control panel. I surveyed the bench portion of the panel. It had a representation of the reactor coolant system. There were icons for the reactor, main coolant pumps, pressurizer, and the coolant-loop isolation valves. I spied a pistol-grip switch in the middle of the reactor panel. There was a label below it that read, “In-Hold-Out.”

Davis saw me staring at the switch and said, “We simply call it the In-Hold-Out switch. It operates the reactor control rods.”

Later in her career, the
Clay
's reactor gained the nickname “Ralph.” A reactor operator was performing a reactor startup. He had spent the previous evening imbibing in too much liquid refreshment and was really hung over. He controlled his queasy stomach until the reactor was critical. While the EOOW made the 2MC announcement that the reactor was critical, the broadcast included the sounds of the reactor operator puking his guts out. From that day on, the nucs called the reactor Ralph.

Davis pointed out a temperature meter on the vertical section. It was the T
_ave
indicator. T
_ave
is nuclear jargon for the average temperature of the water transferring the heat from the nuclear reactor. As the water passes over the fuel, it picks up heat. The hot water exiting the reactor is called T
_hot
or T
_h
. The liquid then passes through tubes in steam generators and heats up when it produces steam for driving the propulsion turbines and electrical turbine generators. The water leaving the steam generators is relatively cold and is termed T
_cold
. Nuclear reactors have strict design operating parameters. Keeping the water temperature within limits is crucial to safe reactor operation. Therefore, the T
_ave
meter is very important.

Nestled in a myriad of indicators, the middle portion of the meter's indicating range was green. The left edge of the green section was the low limit of the reactor coolant system's average operating temperature. The right was the highest. The amount of steam sent to the propulsion turbines varied according to the bell the throttleman was answering. As bells changed, the throttleman had to respond quickly. That changed how much heat was drawn from the reactor coolant system. The reactor operator had to match the heat demanded by the turbines with the heat generated by the reactor, by raising or lowering power. If heat demanded was more than what the reactor produced, the temperature of the reactor coolant system could go below the lower limit of the green band and vice versa.

The chain across the door to maneuvering rattled. Horne was back.

After entering maneuvering, he asked if there were any changes in plant status. Davis told him everything was the same.

As Horne settled into the reactor plant control panel's chair, he commented, “OK, I got it. By the way, Eaglebeak, it was nice meeting you. Don't make yourself a stranger in these parts.”

Davis and I exited maneuvering and headed aft on the diamond deck plates paving the walkway. Immediately behind maneuvering was an electrical distribution panel, with rows and rows of 480-volt breakers. Filling the compartment's overhead was a maze of wires and pipes.

The smooth curvature of the sub's hull formed the overhead and sides. We were standing on the centerline of the boat. To our left and right were the port and starboard 2000-kw ships service turbine generators. The walkway extended aft and up two steps between the generators.

Davis grinned and remarked that the coffee pot just inboard of the forward portion of the port generator was the first piece of gear I would learn to operate. Junior nucs had to make and deliver coffee, especially to the guys stuck in maneuvering.

At the aft end of the diamond-deck walkway were throttle wheels identical to the ones on the steam plant control panel. These were for use in emergencies. Left and right of them were the main propulsion turbines, normally called the main engines.

I was about to go up the steps, when he indicated we use the walkway on the outboard side of the port turbine generator. It led us past the port main engine.

I gawked at the plethora of pipes, valves, emergency air breathing (EAB) manifolds, and battle lanterns. The true shape of the FBM's round pressure hull was clearly visible. As it continued aft, I could see it tapered down smaller and smaller. I became transfixed with the image of the
Clay
as a sleek cigar-shaped projectile smoothly slipping though the ocean carrying out its secret missions.

We stopped just aft of the propulsion turbines. The shaft of each main engine extended into a large housing. It contained the reduction gears. They combined the power from the two propulsion turbines and transmitted it to the
Clay
's single main shaft. Embedded in the shaft was the DC emergency propulsion motor (EPM). It was mainly used when the main engines were unavailable, such as after a reactor SCRAM.

The area also housed the aft signal ejector and the 2000-gallon-per-day distillation unit. The still was difficult to operate, but Mike Pavlov eventually mastered it.

We had finally gone as far aft as possible. I could see the pressure hull tapering down. The inside of the boat terminated at a flat bulkhead. Although we had plenty of headroom, the diameter of the space was significantly smaller here than anywhere else in the submarine. Just beyond the bulkhead were the stern planes, rudder, and the screw. Crossing over to the starboard side, he pointed out the main hydraulic pumps. They supplied the hydraulic fluid for operating the planes, rudder, masts, and periscopes. Davis slipped down a vertical ladder to engine room lower level (ERLL). I followed.

Another cramped area greeted me. It was easy to see how a claustrophobic person could have problems. There were no easy exits.

The main propulsion shaft exited the submarine through the aft bulkhead. A scary thought flashed in my brain. There had to be enough clearance between the shaft and the hull such that there was not any rubbing. That meant there was an open conduit from inside the submarine to surrounding water. To ensure the ocean stayed on the correct side of the submarine's hull, engineers designed shaft seals with a very tortuous path between inside and outside. I hoped the engineers did a good job. Every foot of water adds 0.433 pounds per square inch (psi) of pressure. At 400 feet, the pressure increased to 172 psi. That amount of pressure could cut a man in half. There was an even more disconcerting fact. As the pressure increased, the number of gallons a minute from any leak increased proportionately. That is what doomed the USS
Thresher
.