Voyage of the Devilfish

“Thanks. I’ll be out on the Conn in a few minutes.” He stretched, ran hot water on his face and looked in the mirror. He’d let his beard grown on this run. Normally he didn’t do that… it made his face look too much like his father’s. Good, this was the time for it. Now 160 nautical miles northeast of Norfolk, Devilfish was still running on the surface but she was rigged for dive, the watch already transferred from the bridge to the control room. Lieutenant Stokes, the Officer of the Deck, hugged the number-two periscope on the raised stand, slowly rotating it over the horizon. Pacino walked now into the control room. In the forward end sat the four men who drove the submarine. Two seats were stationed behind a large panel with a console in between.

Each seat had a steering wheel in front. One seat was positioned behind and between the two seats. The panel wrapped around to the left side where the Chief of the Watch sat. Actually it looked much like the cockpit of a large airplane. The left “pilot’s” seat was the fairwater planes man, whose job was to control the horizontal fins on the sail. In the right seat was the helmsman, who steered the ship with the rudder and controlled the sternplanes, the horizontal fins in the far rear of the vessel. The seat behind them was the Diving Officer, charged with the ship’s angle and depth; he supervised the two planesmen and the Chief of the Watch on the left wraparound panel. The Chief of the Watch’s panel controlled the various tanks in the ship, the ballast and weight distribution and the hovering system. Behind the control station was the Conn, the raised platform, eight-by-four feet, penetrated by the two periscope poles. A console with a remote sonar display, microphones and computer gear was on the port side. To the right of the periscope stand, the Conn, was a long row of computer consoles — the firecontrol system. To port, on the outboard side of the Conn, was the SHARKTOOTH underice sonar console. The SHARKTOOTH, which looked up and forward to find the ice, was an active pinging sonar but faint to being nearly undetectable. In the far rear left corner of control was the chart table, and in the rear center of control was the Ship’s Inertial Navigation System equipment, the SINS.

“Off sa’deck, your report,” Pacino said.

“Captain, the ship’s rig for dive was checked by Lieutenant Commander Bahnhoff, Ensign Fasteen and Lieutenant Brayton. Straight board. Bottom sounding is 670 fathoms. One contact, tanker, bearing two zero five, range twelve thousand yards, angle on the bow starboard one twenty degrees, past closest point of approach and opening.

We are on course zero three five, all ahead two thirds. Latest fix by NAVSAT shows us two miles northeast of the dive point. SINS agrees. Request permission to submerge the ship, sir.”

Hands in his pockets, Pacino looked at the television monitor showing the view out the periscope. He stepped up to the Conn and took a look at the remote sonar display, then stepped back down and looked at Pos Two, the central of the three TV computer displays for the firecontrol system. He disappeared around the other side of the periscope stand, studied the chart for a moment and checked the depth sounder. He returned to a position by the Diving Officer of the Watch seated between the planesmen.

“Off sa’deck, submerge the ship.” Stokes nodded. “Diving Officer, submerge the ship to six seven feet.” Fasteen repeated the order. “Submerge the ship to six seven feet, dive aye. Chief of the Watch, open the vents on all main ballast tanks. Sound the diving alarm, over the P.A. Circuit One, dive, dive.”

The Chief of the Watch Chief Robertson flipped eight solenoid switches to the up-position and saw eight lighted green bars on his panel turn into red circles. “Vents open, sir.” He pulled a lever in the overhead, and throughout the ship the diving alarm sounded.

OOH-GAH. OOH-GAH.

“DIVE, DIVE,” Robertson announced on the P.A. Circuit One. Stokes trained the periscope view down and forward, and a huge cloud of white spray rushed out from below his view. “Venting forward,” he called out and rotated the periscope aft. More clouds of water vapor rushed out of the aft vents as Pacino and the crew watched on the periscope TV monitor. The rear deck of the sub was now settling into the sea as the white foam washed around it, and Stokes called out! “Decks awash.” Soon the aft end of the ship vanished and the waves were getting closer to the periscope lens.

“Four five feet, sir,” Diving Officer Fasteen announced.