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Authors: Rick Campbell
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incorrect. The Kentucky was transiting west at ahead two-thirds, which wasn’t two-thirds of the ship’s maximum speed but two-thirds of standard speed. Ahead standard was fifteen knots, and ahead full, well, that wasn’t the ship’s full speed at all but the speed that could be attained with the reactor coolant pumps in slow speed. The ship’s maximum speed, ahead flank, could be achieved only after the reactor had been brought up to 100 percent power, generating heat as fast as its coolant pumps, operating in fast speed, could safely remove.
The time of day was also something that took awhile getting used to. Now that the Kentucky was no longer operating in the local waters around Hawaii and was headed out to her patrol area, the clocks had been shifted to Greenwich mean time, to which all other time zones are referenced. The Navy’s radio broadcast and operational orders were tied to GMT, so that every navy ship around the world knew when to execute its orders, regardless of the local time. Although the clock said it was an hour after lunch, Tom’s body told him it was already 3 A.M. It would take a few days for his biological clock to adapt.
As the young officer returned his attention to the rest of his watch section, a report blared over the 4-MC emergency circuit.
“Fire in the Engine Room! Fire in Propulsion Lube Oil Bay!”
The Kentucky ’s general alarm sounded, alerting the crew and initiating emergency responses from the personnel on watch. Tom reacted instantly, shouting out his orders, bringing the submarine shallow so they could ventilate the ship, if required.
“Helm, ahead standard! Dive, make your depth two hundred feet!”
The Helm rang up ahead standard on the Engine Order Telegraph as the Diving Officer directed his planesmen, “Ten up. Full rise, fairwater planes.” The Helm pulled the yoke back to the full rise position while the Outboard watchstander adjusted the stern planes, and the submarine tilted upward, rapidly increasing its angle until the deck was pitched at ten degrees up.
As Tom leaned forward ten degrees to counteract the ship’s up angle, he spoke into the microphone lodged in the overhead. “Sonar, Conn. Make preparations to come to periscope depth.”
Sonar acknowledged and a moment later reported two contacts. But the ship’s spherical array sonar, mounted in the bow, was completely blind in the aft sector, or baffles, blocked by the submarine’s metal structure. With the Kentucky ’s towed array stowed for the transit to her patrol area, Tom had no idea if there were any close contacts aft of the submarine that might run over them on their way up to periscope depth, and he had to find out.
“Helm, left full rudder, steady course one-seven-zero. Sonar, Conn. Commencing baffle clear to port.”
Malone arrived in Control and joined Tom on the Conn, activating a small speaker to monitor the communications between Damage Control Central and the Engine Room. Turning the volume down low so Tom wouldn’t be distracted from his approach to periscope depth, he listened intently to the reports from Damage Control Central:
“The ship is rigged for Fire and General Emergency. All compartments sealed.”
The Diving Officer reported passing through three hundred feet, then announced, “Two hundred feet, sir.”
“Steady course one-seven-zero,” the Helm reported.
“The fire main is pressurized. Hose teams One through Four entering the Engine Room.”
As Tom waited while Sonar searched for contacts in the previously baffled area, his thoughts drifted to the Engine Room. Of the different types of fire, an oil fire was the absolute worst. The flames would spread quickly, following the oil as it coated the Engine Room surfaces. Heavy black smoke would roil upward, collecting in the top of the Engine Room, gradually descending until the entire compartment was choked in dense black smog. The four hose teams would be approaching the fire by now, the narrow white beams of
The time of day was also something that took awhile getting used to. Now that the Kentucky was no longer operating in the local waters around Hawaii and was headed out to her patrol area, the clocks had been shifted to Greenwich mean time, to which all other time zones are referenced. The Navy’s radio broadcast and operational orders were tied to GMT, so that every navy ship around the world knew when to execute its orders, regardless of the local time. Although the clock said it was an hour after lunch, Tom’s body told him it was already 3 A.M. It would take a few days for his biological clock to adapt.
As the young officer returned his attention to the rest of his watch section, a report blared over the 4-MC emergency circuit.
“Fire in the Engine Room! Fire in Propulsion Lube Oil Bay!”
The Kentucky ’s general alarm sounded, alerting the crew and initiating emergency responses from the personnel on watch. Tom reacted instantly, shouting out his orders, bringing the submarine shallow so they could ventilate the ship, if required.
“Helm, ahead standard! Dive, make your depth two hundred feet!”
The Helm rang up ahead standard on the Engine Order Telegraph as the Diving Officer directed his planesmen, “Ten up. Full rise, fairwater planes.” The Helm pulled the yoke back to the full rise position while the Outboard watchstander adjusted the stern planes, and the submarine tilted upward, rapidly increasing its angle until the deck was pitched at ten degrees up.
As Tom leaned forward ten degrees to counteract the ship’s up angle, he spoke into the microphone lodged in the overhead. “Sonar, Conn. Make preparations to come to periscope depth.”
Sonar acknowledged and a moment later reported two contacts. But the ship’s spherical array sonar, mounted in the bow, was completely blind in the aft sector, or baffles, blocked by the submarine’s metal structure. With the Kentucky ’s towed array stowed for the transit to her patrol area, Tom had no idea if there were any close contacts aft of the submarine that might run over them on their way up to periscope depth, and he had to find out.
“Helm, left full rudder, steady course one-seven-zero. Sonar, Conn. Commencing baffle clear to port.”
Malone arrived in Control and joined Tom on the Conn, activating a small speaker to monitor the communications between Damage Control Central and the Engine Room. Turning the volume down low so Tom wouldn’t be distracted from his approach to periscope depth, he listened intently to the reports from Damage Control Central:
“The ship is rigged for Fire and General Emergency. All compartments sealed.”
The Diving Officer reported passing through three hundred feet, then announced, “Two hundred feet, sir.”
“Steady course one-seven-zero,” the Helm reported.
“The fire main is pressurized. Hose teams One through Four entering the Engine Room.”
As Tom waited while Sonar searched for contacts in the previously baffled area, his thoughts drifted to the Engine Room. Of the different types of fire, an oil fire was the absolute worst. The flames would spread quickly, following the oil as it coated the Engine Room surfaces. Heavy black smoke would roil upward, collecting in the top of the Engine Room, gradually descending until the entire compartment was choked in dense black smog. The four hose teams would be approaching the fire by now, the narrow white beams of
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