Operation Golden Dawn

by George Wallace

  He continued, “I will detach LAKE ERIE to make best speed to rendezvous with you. His ETA is twenty hours from now. Will you require a tow?”

  “I hope not. I won’t know until the inspections are completed. My best speed with the outboard is two knots. But we are making preparations to receive a tow as a precaution,” Hunter replied.

  “Roger, keep me updated. Alpha Alpha out.”

  Hunter replaced the handset and turned toward Jacobs.

  “Well, Nav, you heard him. Tell the COB to break the towing gear out of the sonar sphere and have it ready. I really don’t relish the idea of being pulled backwards all the way to Darwin. That looks like the nearest friendly facility that could work on us,” Hunter ordered.

  “Radio, switch me to the P-3’s frequency.”

  “Captain, radio. You are on the P-3’s freq. Clear voice. Our call sign is Foxtrot Four Tango.”

  With a nod, Hunter said, “Xray Papa Three this is Foxtrot Four Tango, over.”

  “Foxtrot Four Tango, this is Xray Papa Three. Hold you visually. Have received instructions from Alpha Alpha to stay in the neighborhood. Over,” the P3 pilot replied.

  “Xray Papa Three, thank you. Request you establish patrol area twenty miles around charlie-charlie. Charlie-charlie will advance corpen two-six-five, speed two. Going sinker. Will stay at papa delta and monitor this freq. Over.”

  “Foxtrot Four Tango, roger. Establishing patrol area now. No contacts to report. Six hours on station time. Will have hot relief from Xray Charlie Two. Monitoring this freq.”

  “Radio, Captain. Station a man monitoring the P3 freq continuously.”

  “Radio, aye,” came the reply.

  “OK, Officer of the Deck, submerge the ship to periscope depth,” Hunter ordered.

  Jacobs immediately ordered, “Diving Officer, submerge the ship to six-two feet,” initiating the well-rehearsed ritual of turning the wallowing surface target into an undersea warrior again, if a very slow one.

  The diving officer responded, “Chief of the Watch, “Dive, dive” on the 1MC and two blasts on the diving alarm.”

  The Chief of the Watch stood and grabbed the microphone. His voice blared from 1MC, “Dive, Dive!” He pushed the operating lever on the diving klaxon. “Aooogha, Aoogha". He then reached forward and flipped up the switches marked Vents Forward and Vents Aft. The green bar lights above the switches changed to amber circles. He reported, “All vents indicate open.”

  The diving officer ordered, "Full dive on the fairwater planes, ten degrees down angle on the stern planes."

  Warran Jacobs rapidly looked for the blast of mist rising from the forward and then the after main ballast tank vents to confirm that water was rushing in the bottom of the ballast tanks, forcing the trapped air out the top. “Forward group venting. After group venting,” he reported.

  “Three-six feet, three-eight feet, four-zero feet” the diving officer called out.

  Jacobs reported, "Decks awash," followed quickly by, "Decks under."

  Slowly the great ship slid beneath the waves. “Five-four feet, five-six feet. Zero angle on the stern planes. Zero the fairwater planes."

  “Six-two feet and holding,” the diving officer reported.

  Hunter stepped off the conn and headed forward. He found Fagan sitting quietly in his stateroom. He had washed his reddened face and changed into a fresh pair of blue coveralls. His head hung down as he wrote on a piece of paper at his desk.

  "OK, XO, just what the hell happened out there?" Hunter asked.

  "Skipper, I froze, I panicked. I was so scared that I couldn't do anything," Fagan replied plaintively. He didn't look up from his desk.

  Hunter answered hotly, "We were all scared. Do you think that I wasn't scared? Everyone else did their job, you froze. I can't have that. I have to have someone I can depend on backing me up, not some coward shaking like a leaf and crying like a baby. What do you think the crew is saying?"

  Bill Fagan finally looked up, pleading with his eyes. "Skipper, I know all that. That's why I'm writing my resignation. If I can't handle the pressure, I don't belong here."

  Hunter reached across the desk and grabbed the paper. "So that's your answer, just to run away? I won't accept it. Having an XO that that freezes is bad enough, but one that's a coward is too much. You will do your job and the next time, you'll do it right." Hunter tore the offending page into bits and threw them on the deck.

  As Hunter turned to leave, Fagan jumped to his feet, both fists clenched in tight balls at his side. "You sanctimonious son of a bitch! How dare you call me a coward!" he spluttered. "You and your ego. You're so driven, you almost get us all killed making a stupid play like that. Just so you could strut around like some big hero!"

  Hunter didn't even respond. He slammed the door and stormed back to his stateroom. He slumped down into the leather chair and put his head in his hands.

  What had he done? He had almost blacked out at the worst possible time. Was Bill right? Had his desire to go on this mission, his arrogant knowledge that no one else could do it, brought everything to this? His ego had almost killed his crew tonight.

  16

  11 Jun 2000, 1530LT (0630Z)

  The engine-room was a bustle of hurried activity. One team of machinist mates built a clean tent around both propulsion turbine reduction gears; draping up large sheets of a material called Herculite to form a small room around the reduction gears. Everything inside the room not welded or bolted to the deck was removed. After this was completed, every item that entered the clean room, even Chief Richey’s thick eyeglasses, would be logged in and logged out again. Then they unlocked and removed the casing covers.

  Two other machinists started to purify and cool down the hot oil remaining in the system. They found several large pieces of bearing material in the lube oil strainers, telling them that one or more of the bearings were severely damaged.

  Number one pump would not rotate when they attempted to turn it by hand. It was jammed, but number two rotated freely. Why hadn’t it started?

  “Eng, here is the reason that number two didn’t pick up. Look at this switch. Damn thing failed and jammed open. Talk about Murphy’s Law; we have probably tested it fifty times since overhaul, worked every time. When we really need it, the damn thing fails,” Chief Turston reported as he held up the offending relay for Sam Stuart to scrutinize. “My guys are drawing a new one from supply. We’ll have this baby up and running in a couple of hours,” he stated as he rose and stretched to relieve his aching muscles of the tension from working in an impossibly cramped space. “The Navy needs to issue electricians that are ten feet tall with eight foot arms and not more than six inches around. No bones would help.”

  “Sure Chief, just send that suggestion up the chain,” Stuart chuckled as he turned to check on the machinists.

  Stuart picked up the sound powered phone. “Captain, Engineer. We have found the cause of the loss of lube oil. Looks like a nut got caught up in the screws for number one pump. Really messed up the pump. We won’t be able to fix it. Out of commission for the duration. Number two has a faulty loss of pressure relay. We’ll have it out and replaced in two hours.

  "I won’t know which propulsion train bearings are damaged until we can get into the reduction gear casing to inspect them. I'm hoping that all the damage is on one side. Then we can slip the shaft coupling on that side and operate with one main engine. If we have damage to one of the large main shaft bearings, we’re screwed. We can’t fix those. If we have damage to the same reduction gear bearing on both sides, we’re screwed again. We only have one of each bearing type. If we can repair the bearing, rolling it out and replacing it will take at least twelve hours. Bottom line, best case, I will be able to give you one main in about three hours. Worst case, we get towed home. Anything in between is negotiable.”

  The SAN FRANCISCO had two identical main engines and two sets of reduction gears that were completely independent. Although normally operated together to drive the s
ingle main shaft, they could be separated in an emergency and one used for propulsion while the other was repaired. The two systems joined to drive the huge final reduction gear and then the main shaft. Any casualty to these components meant that SAN FRANCISCO would be without her engines to drive her home.

  “Very well, keep working at it,” Hunter grunted.

  Turning to the OOD, Hunter directed, “Officer of the Deck, reload tubes three and four with Harpoons, just in case we get any surface company.”

  “Aye, sir,” the OOD acknowledged. He then reported “The air charge is at two four hundred pounds. I expect another two hours on it. I still hold Xray Papa Three visually. No other contacts. Making two point one knots good on the outboard.”

  Hunter leaned against the stanchion and rubbed his eyes, his mind racing.

  So much to do, so much to think about. The blackouts were definitely worse now. How to prevent more of them and hide them from the crew? How do we get the ship fixed and back in the fight? And, maybe most troubling, what to do about Fagan?

  10 Jun 2000, 2000LT (11 Jun, 0700Z)

  "I can't believe he forgot again." Megan Hunter sat on the limb of her favorite banyan tree, the cell phone covered so that her mother might not see it. "He's always gone for my birthday. I'll bet that Mom buys a present for me from him and he won't even know what it is." Tears of frustration and anger poured down her cheeks.

  Across the water on Ford Island, Sally Johnson lay across her bed with her phone clutched against her ear. "Yeah, Dads are like that. Mine does the same thing." She rolled over and grabbed the large fluffy teddy bear that rested on her pillow. "He tried to make up for it this year. Bought a stuffed bear at the Exchange on his way home from the office. Guess he didn't know that I had asked Mom for it the week before. Still got home late and forgot my party."

  "I thought mine would remember this year," Megan complained angrily. "It's my sixteenth. But he's off on some silly exercise." She shifted around on the limb, trying to find a more comfortable position. "I hate the Navy. I'll never marry a Navy man when I grow up. I won't even date a sailor, as if Dad would let me date."

  11 Jun 2000, 1810LT (0910Z)

  Sam Stuart and the chief machinist, Chief Richey, pulled white Tyvek coveralls and booties over their poopie suits while discussing the inspection and repairs they expected to make on the main engine bearings. A lanyard attached every item that they needed to the belt on their suit and everything that could come loose was double secured with tape.

  Stuart said, "Chief, you take the starboard reduction gear and I'll take the port. Here's hoping we can get a side back up."

  They squeezed through the small access covers into the tight recesses of the reduction gear covers. They saw that they had a problem right away. Both high-speed pinion bearings were firmly welded to their respective shafts. After an hour of sliding around inside the hot, oil coated housing, they emerged, the Tyvek coveralls coated with a thick golden layer of warm oil. They didn’t find any other damage.

  Chief Turston stuck his head inside the clean tent and reported that repairs were completed to number two oil pump and they were ready to start it.

  “Good, just in time to check normal oil flows to all the bearings. I’m still worried about the shaft bearings. If those are damaged, we are SOL,” Stuart replied.

  Minutes later the reduction gear covers were back in place and the pump started. Oil flowed through the system. Watch-standers carefully checked every bearing to make sure that it had a normal oil supply. Both too little and too much was bad. Too little meant that the bearing was damaged and had restricted flow. Too much meant that the heat had melted off the babbit material in the bearing leaving nothing to support the shaft. The bearing would need to be replaced. Fortunately, all bearings including the vital main shaft bearings had normal oil flows. The only exceptions were the two high-speed pinion bearings. Neither had any oil flow to them.

  11 Jun 2000, 2030LT (1130Z)

  Stuart wearily reported, “Captain, I have good news and bad news.” Sweat dripped from his brow, forming a large puddle on the steel deck.

  "Go ahead."

  “First, the good news. All the shaft bearings and main reduction gear bearings are fine. We have normal oil flows. Number two lube oil pump is back on line.

  "Now, for the bad news. Both high-speed pinion bearings are seized. We only have one replacement onboard. It will take us about twelve hours to roll one out and put in the new one. I am disconnecting the port main engine now and making preparations to replace the starboard bearing. After starboard repairs are complete, we will be limited to twenty knots until we can fix the port bearing.”

  “Very well, Eng. Keep me posted as you go. If I can get you another bearing, is there anything else that you will need?” Hunter asked.

  “No sir. We checked that. We have all the other parts here. What kind of magic do you have in mind? The nearest replacement is at the Pearl Harbor Shipyard,” the Engineer replied.

  “Don’t know yet, but we'll see what we can do. Come forward when you get a chance. I want to sit down with the department heads and plan out the next couple of days.”

  “Aye, sir. I’ll have things rolling here in about an hour."

  11 Jun 2000, 2050LT (1150Z)

  “Well XO, the first combat submarine kill since World War II. I wonder how Dick O’Kane felt after his first kill on TANG. I can tell you that it sure isn’t what I always imagined,” Hunter said thoughtfully.

  The two were standing in the passageway outside the XO's stateroom. It was almost like nothing had happened between them. Almost, but not quite.

  "I know what you’re saying about the kill, Skipper. I always thought that it would be like running in a touchdown to win the Army-Navy Game or something. But there’s just this feeling that we’ve done something not quite clean, but something that had to be done,” Fagan answered after a moment.

  Both pretended that the shouting match had not occurred, neither was quite successful.

  “That KILO skipper must have had ice for nerves. Even with an ADCAP screaming in at him, he stood and shot an accurate counter-fire. Didn’t even try to run. I would have liked to meet him under different circumstances. But, all said, it’s good to be alive. I’d rather be lamenting his passing than vice-versa. Let’s get the department heads in the wardroom to discuss the plan for the next few days,” Hunter concluded.

  Fagan commented, "One thing that I still don't understand."

  "What's that?" Hunter asked.

  "How did that KILO know we were coming? He fired an ET-80 Alpha at us."

  Hunter shook his head. The ET-80 Alpha was strictly an ASW torpedo. The KILO skipper was expecting a US submarine.

  11 Jun 2000, 2145LT (1245Z)

  “The time/distance problem just doesn’t work. The Engineer says that he needs twelve more hours before we get one main engine and then we are limited to twenty knots. If we work this out, from here to the rendezvous is twenty-five hundred nautical miles. With this timetable, we will make twenty-four miles good while we are fixing the bearing and then one hundred and twenty-four hours or five days and five hours to get there. That will be a full day after the SEALs arrive.” LCDR Jacobs completed his briefing as the assembled department heads pored over the large-scale chart laid out on the wardroom table. “That doesn’t even take into account time to come to periscope depth for comms or any delays. We’ll either have to delay or abort.”

  Hunter directed his first team, “Unfortunately, neither of those options are possible. We have to get there and deliver those SEALs. Too much depends on it. Give me another option. Think outside the box.”

  The room fell silent. No one had an answer.

  They had come so far, accomplished so much, only to be stopped here. It didn't seem possible, but there didn't appear to be any alternative.

  “Just a minute,” the normally quiet weapons officer jumped up. As the most junior and least experienced of the department heads, Jeff Miller was much more i
nclined to sit back and listen than to initiate any ideas outside of his departmental responsibilities.

  “Eng, didn’t you say that the nearest bearing was in Pearl?”

  “Yeah, that’s where it is. Doesn’t do us any good over four thousand five hundred miles away,” the exhausted Engineer shot back sarcastically.

  “Just a minute, Eng. Give Jeff a chance. He may have something,” Fagan interjected.

  Jeff Miller started out hesitantly, afraid that he would be laughed at or his idea rejected as too far fetched. “Remember that exchange duty I pulled with the Air Force after my junior officer sea tour? I flew as a watch officer on the Airborne National Command Post. You call it Kneecap after the acronym, ABNCP. One thing that we always tracked was the KC-10 tankers around the world. We always had the capability to set up a tanker grid across the Pacific on a one-hour notice.”

  LT Miller continued, “Now, remember that squadron of F-15 Eagles that the Hawaiian Air National Guard maintains at Hickam? They maintain two birds on a ready fifteen for air defense. Suppose that we put a bearing in an F-15 and flew it to Guam. Have an F-14 from the NIMITZ meet it there. The F-14 does a hot turn around to the carrier. Then one of ESSEX’s OSPREYs brings it to us. If the fast flyers pour on the coal, shouldn’t take more than, say, six hours.”

  “Weps, you’re a genius. If you weren’t so ugly, I’d kiss you,” Hunter shouted over his shoulder as he ran to the control room.

  “Radio, Captain, get me Alpha Alpha on the horn.”

  The reply was quick. “Captain, radio. Alpha Alpha is on the net. The watch officer is notifying the admiral. I have patched you through to the conn.”