Silent and Unseen

by Alfred McLaren

  Seadragon was to make twelve more six-month deployments to the WestPac. During this time she was to become the first U.S. nuclear submarine to visit Hong Kong, enter Japanese home waters to visit Sasebo and Yokosuka, and visit Hobart, Tasmania. She also earned a Meritorious Unit Citation for Cold War operations during 1975.5

  By the time she was decommissioned on 12 June 1984, she had steamed over 200,000 nautical miles and conducted some 1,800 dives and surfacings.6 Seadragon was stricken from the Navy list on 30 April 1986 and then languished for eight years at the Puget Sound Naval Shipyard at Bremerton, Washington, until she entered the Navy’s Nuclear Powered Surface Ship and Submarine Recycling Program on 1 October 1994. This beautiful boat finished the program and ceased to exist on 18 September 1995.7

  PART III

  USS Skipjack (SSN 585)

  Root of the New Sea Power

  Launch of USS Skipjack (SSN 585). U.S. Navy

  CHAPTER 14

  First Months on Board

  The third attack submarine I was to serve on board, from the summer of 1962 until the late spring of 1965, was USS Skipjack (SSN 585), named for a fierce, deep-water, steel-blue game fish known for its speed and aggressiveness. How did I end up on Skipjack when I previously had orders during the spring of 1962 to report to the new-construction submarine, Jack? Jack was a later Permit-class nuclear attack submarine, slated to be under the command of the former exec of Seadragon and my good friend, Cdr. Jim Strong. As summer approached, my family and I were in the final stages of preparing for our move from Pearl Harbor to Portsmouth. Within days of my detachment from Seadragon, however, I received a call from the submarine officer detailer. He told me that the construction and subsequent launch date of Jack were to be delayed significantly. I was, therefore, to “skip the Jack and report to USS Skipjack (SSN 585).” Conveniently, Skipjack was also in Kittery where she was midway through an extensive overhaul.

  Three U.S. Navy submarines that bore the name lived up to the Skipjack’s reputation: The first, also known as the E-1, was commissioned on 14 February 1912, with Lt. Chester W. Nimitz in command.1 The first submarine to use diesel engines, she made a transatlantic crossing en route to her World War I patrol area off the Azores to test submerged radio communications. The second Skipjack (SS 184), commissioned in 1938, was in Manila Bay at the advent of World War II. She made ten war patrols under eight commanding officers, earning seven battle stars and sinking six Japanese ships, including a destroyer with a “down the throat shot” for a total of 43,738 tons. Her most famous captain was James W. Coe, who was awarded the Navy Cross.

  The modern Skipjack was the first of a new class of six single-screw nuclear attack submarines that included Scamp (SSN 588), the ill-fated Scorpion (SSN 589), Sculpin (SSN 590), Shark (SSN 591), and Snook (SSN 592). Her overall characteristics were as follows:

  •Displacement: 3,124 tons surfaced, 3,569 tons submerged

  •Length overall: 251.7 feet

  •Beam: 31 feet 7 inches

  •Draft: 29 feet 5 inches

  •Propulsion system: One Westinghouse S-5-W nuclear reactor plant

  •Propeller: One five-bladed

  •Speed on surface: 20+ knots

  •Speed submerged: 33 knots

  •Range: Unlimited

  •Endurance submerged: Unlimited

  •Armament: Six 21-inch torpedo tubes, all forward

  •Crew: 8 officers and 85 enlisted2

  This new class combined the tear drop–shaped hull of the experimental USS Albacore (AGSS 569), which significantly reduced underwater resistance with a third-generation Westinghouse nuclear power plant.3 The power plant’s two steam turbines were able, with a single, massive, fifteen-foot-diameter, five-bladed screw, to produce a maximum of 15,000-shaft horsepower. The usual forward-mounted bow planes were moved to her sail, and subway straps were mounted in her control room for us to use during high-speed turns and depth excursions. All told, Skipjack was a highly maneuverable nuclear attack submarine with a submerged speed that far exceeded her Nautilus-, Seawolf-, and four Skate-class predecessors.

  Skipjack, in effect, was a high-speed underwater airplane that seemed to be able to fly through the water and reverse course almost within her own ship length. Most of us in the submarine force were aware that she had made the fastest submerged transit of the Atlantic on record, en route to the Mediterranean during her shakedown cruise in 1959, but no one really knew at exactly what speed. I fully believed that Skipjack was capable of making speeds in excess of forty-five knots.

  Skipjack’s keel was laid at General Dynamics Corporation, Electric Boat Division, Groton, Connecticut, on 29 May 1956. She was launched on 26 May two years later and commissioned on 15 April 1959. With her superior hydrodynamic shape, devoid of any superstructure except for a huge sail that protruded like a shark fin from the hull, Skipjack was soon setting all kinds of undersea speed records, beginning with her initial sea trials in March 1958. Her actual top speed, however, has remained a secret known only to her crews. By the time I reported on board in July 1962, during her extensive overhaul in the Portsmouth Naval Shipyard, Kittery, Maine, she was already the first nuclear submarine to have passed through the Strait of Gibraltar to operate in the Mediterranean. In addition, she had earned a Navy Unit Commendation and her first Battle Efficiency “E” awards for a mysterious and apparently successful Cold War mission, accomplished under her first skipper, World War II six-war-patrol veteran and Silver Star holder, William W. Behrens Jr.

  Admiral of the Fleet, the Earl Mountbatten of Burma visits USS Skipjack (SSN 585) accompanied by Vice Adm. Hyman G. Rickover, Rear Adm. Frederick B. Warder, and Lt. Cdr. William W. Behrens Jr., commanding officer of Skipjack (SSN 585). U.S. Navy

  Skipjack’s second commanding officer, relieving Lt. Cdr. William W. Behrens Jr. (later rear admiral) in December of 1960, and the one to whom I reported, was a former Vanderbilt and U.S. Naval Academy football player, Cdr. Leslie D. “Les” Kelly Jr. A tall, genial, and powerfully built man, he was one of the first three officers that Admiral Rickover chose for the nuclear power program. Commander Kelly had previously commanded USS Trigger (SS 564) and been chief engineer during the construction and commissioning of what was then, at an overall length of 447 feet, the world’s largest submarine, USS Triton (SSRN 586). Triton was the only U.S. submarine to be powered by two nuclear power plants; it had originally been intended to serve the fleet as a radar picket submarine.

  During 1961 Skipjack took part in a series of exercises, both independently and with surface antisubmarine units. These exercises were aimed at evaluating rapidly evolving nuclear submarine tactics and doctrine, and at teaching ASW forces how to combat a high-speed nuclear submarine. As can be imagined, Skipjack with her high-speed advantage and extreme maneuverability proved herself invulnerable to a successful attack of any type. I was told of an occasion under Captain Behren’s command where an acoustic homing exercise torpedo had been launched against Skipjack. Behrens allowed the torpedo to acoustically acquire the boat. He then immediately increased speed to flank, and the torpedo led right back toward the original firing U.S. ASW ship. The torpedo subsequently acquired and struck that ship. Skipjack had been deployed on a second Cold War mission for several months during the early summer of 1961. She finished the year taking part in further, more-advanced exercises with antisubmarine units of the Atlantic Fleet.

  I was initially disappointed at being diverted from Jack, but soon became intrigued, if not downright pleased and awed, to be ordered to an operational high-performance attack submarine like Skipjack as prospective auxiliary division officer and diving officer. More exciting was the prospect of becoming part of Skipjack’s legendary crew. Her radio call sign was a sexy “Starfire,” and her motto a most appropriate Radix Nova Tridentis (Root of the new sea power).

  As it turned out, I was one of four new officers to report on board this nuclear sub at the same time. The others were Lt. William T. “Ted” Hussey (later commander) and L
t. Ronald M. “Ron” Eytchison (eventually vice admiral), followed by Lt. Bernard M. “Bud” Kauderer (later lieutenant commander, eventually vice admiral), who would relieve the chief engineer, Lt. Robert W. “Bob” Chewning (later lieutenant commander, eventually rear admiral). Bob immediately fleeted up to exec, relieving a real character, Lt. Cdr. Robert H. Weeks, nicknamed Crusader Rabbit, for reasons that can only be guessed at. Weeks, interestingly, would then depart for Seadragon where he would relieve Wes Harvey, who would become commanding officer of USS Thresher (SSN 593), also in Kittery for overhaul, once he had completed Admiral Rickover’s prospective commanding officers course at his headquarters in Washington, DC. We remaining three lieutenants relieved officers who were scheduled either to leave the submarine force for the civilian world or to go on to various new-construction submarine billets.

  I had the pleasure of relieving an old friend and fellow 13th Company U.S. Naval Academy classmate, Lt. William E. “Bill” McCarron Jr., as auxiliary division and diving officer. These would prove to be the most challenging jobs on such a high-performance and complex submarine as Skipjack. The auxiliary division was essentially responsible for all the ship control equipments and hydraulic systems relating to operating her, both submerged and on the surface. In addition, the submarine’s air conditioning and refrigeration systems, and all atmosphere-control systems, including two new oxygen generators, were to fall under my purview. Bill had already been admitted to medical school and was eager to be on his way, but he took the necessary time to ensure that I had a thorough grasp of my new responsibilities. We then reported to Skipjack’s commanding officer, Captain Kelly, to inform him I was ready in all respects to relieve Bill.

  We had no sooner knocked on the door and stated the purpose of our visit than the captain began to ask me a number of detailed questions. He wanted to know whether I truly understood my responsibilities as auxiliary division officer and Skipjack’s diving officer. The questioning ranged over the many equipments and systems in various states of overhaul and repair. I recall that my two greatest concerns, and the questions that I had considerable difficulty answering, were those pertaining to the two new oxygen generators. No one on board, including me, had ever had any operational experience with them. The other was ensuring that a very toxic, experimental hydraulic fluid was successfully replaced with the standard fluid used by the rest of the submarine force.

  As Skipjack’s diving officer, I would be responsible for her safe and completely in-control handling during high-speed maneuvers and depth excursions. I would also have to ensure that when we returned to sea for our first test dives, the boat would be ballasted such that we were neither too heavy nor too light. Skipjack had to be capable of safely submerging and being brought to a neutral buoyancy condition very quickly. How was this to be achieved? By keeping close track of the weight and effect, fore and aft, of everything that was removed or added to Skipjack during the course of the yard overhaul. Since she had already been in the shipyard for over five months, I had to start with the essentially unverifiable ballasting or weight and balance records that had been kept up to that time. I not only had to backtrack looking for errors or omissions, but I also had to keep up-to-date on a day-to-day basis. A worst-case scenario would be to depart for sea trials tens of thousands of pounds heavy and not know it, in which case Skipjack would probably plow into the bottom during the initial test dive. The converse would be to depart for sea in a too-light condition and not be able to submerge. That would be profoundly embarrassing. It would not, however, be as potentially fatal as the former, particularly if the depth of the sea-trial area exceeded Skipjack’s crush depth.

  Since I had been diving officer on both Greenfish and Seadragon, I was experienced to the degree that I was probably a little cocky upon reporting on Skipjack. I will never forget the mortifying exchange that happened several days after I assumed my new duties. Commander Kelly invited me into the wardroom for a cup of coffee and asked some thoughtful questions concerning the settlement and comfort of my family in the Kittery area. He then suddenly asked me, “Fred what are your plans for our initial test dive? How do you plan to ballast the boat?”

  Like an idiot, I confidently stated something to effect that I planned to go as our initial ballasting calculations indicated. This would have been with no additional or precautionary ballasting just in case our figures were off. The captain just smiled, and the conversation wandered on to other subjects.

  I had no sooner departed the wardroom than I said to myself, “What utter stupidity. What is to be gained by not taking additional precautions when it is completely appropriate? On what basis can anyone ever be completely sure of the accuracy of ballasting figures kept by both shipyard and ship during a lengthy shipyard overhaul?” So, hat in hand, I returned to the wardroom area and knocked on the captain’s door. When Captain Kelley opened it, I blurted out, “Belay my last, captain. We will ballast Skipjack at least 20,000 pounds light before we make our first dive.” The captain grinned broadly, slapped me on the back, and said, “Good!”

  I walked away feeling like a complete ass but vastly relieved, knowing I had done the right thing. At the same time, I had more properly set the tone for my working relationship with my new captain. Submarining has never been a profession where chances or shortcuts of any sort are appropriate just for the sake of expediency or pride. There was clearly no operational need for pride and the stakes, beginning with the basic safety of the crew, were too high. The pressures of a Cold War operation or combat at sea were one thing, but our present job was to get Skipjack to sea in such condition that we could later confidently push her to the limits operationally whenever the occasion demanded.

  Skipjack’s overhaul proceeded like most: slow, tedious, frustrating, and exceedingly demanding of both officers and crew. In addition to maintaining complete control of the nuclear power plant and all related systems in a shutdown condition, our job was to monitor and work closely with Portsmouth Naval Shipyard personnel on all tasks. This was to ensure that all of Skipjack’s myriad equipments and systems were repaired, modified, or upgraded as appropriate and as safely and expeditiously as possible. Offices, communication facilities, and berthing were set up for us on a nearby barge such that ready access could be had to our boat at all times. The crew and officers operated on a twenty-four-hour watch and monitoring schedule seven days a week during the overhaul.

  Once all required shipyard work had been accomplished on a particular equipment or system—air, liquid, hydraulic, or electrical—it was ready for testing. After completing the tests successfully, we accepted and took control of that equipment or system. Its safe operation was then our responsibility for the remainder of the overhaul and at-sea operations thereafter.

  My family and I passed a pleasant couple of months in Kittery, which included some enjoyable wardroom social events. When the overhaul was completed later in the fall of 1962 I planned to relocate my family to Navy housing in Groton, Connecticut, near Skipjack’s home port of New London. After two years in Hawaii, we had become thoroughly acclimated to island life and had forgotten how muggy it was during a typical summer in New England. We very much missed the tropical beauty and cool breezes of Hawaii, and the more casual and leisurely lifestyle.

  During the week, when not slated for the watch or a special testing schedule, most of the crew and officers lived and slept on the barge moored alongside the boat at Kittery, then drove south to New London or Groton to spend the weekend with our families. My memories are those of a completely torn-up submarine interior, constant machinery and mechanical tool noise, dust everywhere, and the overwhelming smell of oil, paint, and human sweat. We were treated to portable radios endlessly blaring music, mostly the two pop songs “Monster Mash” and “Witch Doctor.” I recall with amusement how our exec, Bob Chewning, when sleeping on the barge, would get up in the middle of the night to use the head and invariably run into the adjacent bulkhead with a loud thud and groan. We had a ship’s picnic or two an
d enjoyed an occasional lunch or happy hour at the officers club, but all in all the period was constant and seemingly unending drudgery. We couldn’t wait to get back to sea.

  It was under Captain Kelly’s superb mentorship that I began to mature and truly thrive as a submarine officer, subsequently qualifying as command of submarines and as engineer. He was later, as submarine detail officer in the Bureau of Personnel, U.S. Navy Department, in Washington, DC, to have a profound effect on my future as an exclusively nuclear attack submariner: in 1963 he positioned me to become Skipjack’s engineer officer and later the commissioning exec of the first of the new Sturgeon-class nuclear attack submarines to go to sea, USS Queenfish.

  The Cuban Missile Crisis and Another Near Miss

  The original best estimate for Skipjack’s final departure from the Portsmouth Naval Shipyard was sometime before Christmas 1962. The schedule was changed abruptly, however, when U.S. intelligence began to get hints, that had begun in late July, of the Soviet Union’s increased military assistance to Cuba. Air defense missile sites were observed in late August, followed by Cuban-bound ships that were determined in early October to contain crates of IL-28 medium-range bombers. By mid-October the United States had conclusive proof that the Soviet Union was secretly building medium-range missile installations in Cuba.4

  The rapidly developing situation in Cuba hastened efforts on the part of both shipyard and crew to get Skipjack’s overhaul completed and our boat ready for sea, and we wrapped up the overhaul by late September. Following a somewhat abbreviated series of sea trials, Skipjack moved to her home port of New London. She then began preparations for deployment in response to the ever-mounting crisis.