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USS George Bancroft (SSBN 643) 
What It's Like on Board an FBM Nuclear Submarine Behind the sail is a long, flat surface reaching two-thirds the length of the ship. At the rear, the deck recedes into the sea. About 20 feet further aft, a large, sleek rudder pokes up six feet out of the water. It's a submarine! The fisherman smiles in recognition. Yes, a submarine. But not just a SUBMARINE. This is an FBM nuclear submarine! A fleet ballistic missile carrying submersible. This type of ship was the mainstay of the United States deterrent forces during the Cold War. The tiny sea growths clinging to the hull betray the fact that she is returning from another long patrol. Coming off patrol!! As the ship passes quietly by 300 yards off his starboard bow, the fisherman can see several people standing inside an opening at the top of the sail. They were on the bridge of this black, silent, and powerful ship. Somewhere off to his left, the fisherman hears a long blast of a ship's whistle. That would be the tug boat leaving the harbor where the submarine tender is moored. The tug steams out to welcome the submarine home from another successful patrol. On board are some of the relieving crew members who will soon take over the responsibility for preparing the ship for another patrol about four weeks later. Back on the ship, a hatch opens at the rear end of the flat missile deck. Tiny figures climb out of the open hatch like a steady stream of busy ants. Their faces are stretched in wide grins. It's good to be on the surface again. It's good to smell the fresh salt air. It's good to be coming home. 
SSBN643 last patrol 
on patrol 
received a familygram Periscope Depth on a Dark Night The control room is always a popular place on patrol. Here's where the action is. Here's where the contacts are reported, evaluated and analyzed. And here's where the Officer of the Deck (OOD) stands his watch. During his six-hour watch, he'll stand on a raised platform next to the two periscopes, overseeing all the operations of the ship. Every watch station on the ship will respond to his command. As the direct representative of the Captain, he controls the main engines, the depth, course, and speed of the ship, and any major evolution that involves pumping water to sea. Seldom does one person have such responsibility and such power. It took him 18 months to qualify to stand this watch, eighteen months of long hours, intense study and exhaustive oral and written exams. He must know this ship inside and out. He must know her every system, and every sound that she makes. He must know her speeds, her turn distances, her depth response. He must know and demonstrate how to protect and save her through all the possible dangers that she must face. Yes, he's proud to be there, proud to know this ship so well. And he smiles to himself as he feels the gold dolphins on his chest — the insignia of a qualified submarine officer. He glances at the chronometer (clock) there on the conning tower platform. In a few minutes it will be time to make an ascent to periscope depth. The satellite orbiting around the earth will be in position for them to receive updated latitude-longitude location information. The crew needs to know their exact position on the earth so the inertial navigation equipment on board can be recalibrated and kept accurate. Should the word come that the US is at war and under attack, the crew will launch their nuclear missiles to stop the enemy from further attack. And ballistic missiles trajectories go far above the earth so they need very accurate position information to hit the intended target at the other end of the launch tubes. The mission of the ship was (and still is) deterrent. We carry a bigger stick so any potential enemy nation thinks twice before attacking our country. The FBM submarine's mission is considered a success when the crew returns from patrol without launching her deadly weapons. Mentally, the OOD begins to psyche himself for the periscope depth evolution. This is always a dangerous operation because ocean water has layers where the temperature varies. These layers act as buffers, blinders for the listening sonar on the ship. FBM Submarines seldom actively ping with their sonar. Instead they listen and quietly move about in the depths, always the stealth warrior, always a participant in a game of cat and mouse with all others. To come to periscope depth means that the ship will come up through the temperature layers. The risk is that a surface ship could be right above the rising submarine and not detected until the boat was on its way to shallow depth, what we call “periscope depth.” Therefore, before bringing the ship up, the OOD must enable the sonar operators to scan all around the submerged ship in every direction. Behind the ship, where the huge screw is rotated by the powerful engineering system, driven by the heat generated by the nuclear reactor, a blind spot exists for the sonar listening devices. We call it the “baffles.” In the direction of the stern, the sonar only hears the ship's screw noise. Therefore, the boat is turned and twisted to expose the baffle area. We wouldn't want to find that an enemy boat was trying to sneak in from behind and trail us, or that a surface ship was bearing down on our position from the direction from astern. The OOD looks down from the conning station at his support team. He steps forward on the conning station platform. “Right 10 degrees rudder,” he commands. The Diving Officer and the two men at the diving station leap to action. “Right 10 degrees rudder, aye aye, sir” says the helmsman at the inboard station. He controls the movement of the rudder and the fairwater planes up on the sail. He turns his helm wheel until he sees 10 degrees indicated on the display before him. “My rudder is right 10 degrees, sir.” Next to him at the outboard station sits the stern planesman. They work together to move the ship as commanded by the Diving Officer. And they compensate to keep the ship on depth as she turns. The OOD presses the key on one of the several communication mikes that hang down from comm boxes there in the Conn. “Sonar, CONN, clearing baffles to the right. Report all contacts, all noise levels.” Immediately the speakers in the control room acknowledge with “CONN, Sonar, aye.” The rest of the diving party immediately prepares for periscope depth. They mentally go through all of the actions that are required to bring this ship up from the deep to face whatever hazards may be up near or on the surface. The Ballast Control Panel (BCP) Chief of the Watch (COW) and the two planesmen glance at each other. They all recognize the familiar actions before a periscope depth ascent — clear the baffles, get Radio, NAV (Navigation), and ESM (electronic surveillance) notified, report all contacts to the Skipper (the Captain of the ship), get permission to go up to periscope depth, and head for the surface. The Diving Officer leans forward on his deck-mounted stool. He reviews the evolution with his diving team. He discusses the emergency deep procedures should they come up in front of a large tanker, screw-noise blocked behind it, unable to be heard by the boat's sonar as the merchant ship bores through the water on a zero degree bearing on the bow (heading directly toward the boat). They discuss the conditions on the surface at the time of the last ascent — sea state, direction of the seas, cloud cover, etc. — sea state 4, 8 to 10 foot swells. On the planned periscope depth coarse, they would come up in the trough of the seas, plenty of rolling, but the bubble (longitudional angle of the bow to stern) will be easy to hold. They should be able to maintain depth with no problem. They don't want to dip the antennas and lose satellite signals; nor do they want to broach the ship and expose her to detection. The Chief of the Watch (COW) studies the lights and indicators on the BCP before him. Green board, plenty of air, hydraulics up. He picks up the Dial-X telephone and calls the galley. “This is the Chief of the Watch. We'll be at periscope depth in a half hour. There will be some rolling, so watch the gravy.” There's nothing like the experience discovering that you forgot to secure something when rigging for heavy seas. This is why some meals are served with the plates set on top of damp towels — prevents plates of food from sliding around and off onto someone's lap. The OOD checks the clock again. Twenty minutes to go. It'll be a pitch black night upstairs. Better get ready. “Rig Control for red,” he commands. White lights go out as red lighting flicks on all over the room. Nimble fingers twist knobs on various equipment to change the illumination from white to red. And the pupils of the Control Room party begin to dilate as they adapt to the reduced light conditions. The eyes of the OOD must be ready to see in the night above. He checks with the Quartermaster at the chart desk below the Conn over on the right side of the Control Room. He wants to review the weather during the last ascent — 40% cloud cover, stratus cumulus, visibility 20,000 yards, wind 10 knots from the south-southwest. If the clouds increase, the starlight won't get through, and it'll be difficult to make out the horizon. “I'll have to use the zero elevation detent on the scope when I come up,” he thinks to himself. Sonar reports that the baffles are clear. “Maneuvering, Conn. Make 60 turns.” The Engine Room watch acknowledges, and the powerful engines increase the rotation speed of the huge shaft, turning the prop ever so much faster, yet being careful not to produce the bubble effect that sonar techs call “cavitation.” “NAV, CONN. Man ESM.” “Quartermaster, at periscope depth, handle the 27 MC.” (This is the Sonar and ESM reporting and announcing system). “Chief of the Watch, at periscope depth, handle the 21 MC.” All acknowledge knowingly. They've been through this many times before, and know the seriousness of the evolution they are about to conduct. Tension begins to fill the air. Sea state 4! It'll be rough upstairs. The COW sends the Control Room messenger out to notify all watch stations of the coming evolution and expected rolling. The OOD steadies on what he feels will be the best course for operating at periscope depth. He will bring her up in the trough of the seas, so the waves wash over the ship from the beam. He reaches up and pulls the securing pins from the periscope operation rings for the #1 attack scope and the #2 support scope. The scopes had been secured in the lowered position to minimize the affect of the sea pressure on the seals around the smooth periscope barrels. With the scopes unpinned, he needs only to twist the orange ring above his head and surrounding the attack scope to raise or lower it as desired. There are six sonar contacts, and the OOD studies the three sonar bearing time recorders there in the CONN. Five of the contacts are past their CPA (closest point of approach) and are opening. One contact is closing with its bearing from the boat changing at one degree per minute (bearing rate 1 degree per minute). Sonar reports that it is a merchant ship with one 4-blade screw, making 87 turns. They estimate its range at 10,000 yards. The OOD turns off all of the red overhead lighting in the CONN. “Rig Control for black,” he commands. The red lighting blinks out, and the Control Room becomes silent. Dimly lit red indicators on the panels are the only clue that this is an active area. The only voices that one hears are commands from the OOD and those who acknowledge. The entire evolution relies on and focuses on the OOD. It's his ball game. He calls the shots, and he makes the decisions. He picks up the 21 MC mike and reports to the Captain, who is in his stateroom. He tells the Captain that he has completed preparations for periscope depth, that Sonar is tracking six contacts, five opening and one, a merchant closing slowly, out about 10,000 yards, bearing 212 degrees, drawing right 1 degree per minute. No close contacts. He requests permission to come to periscope depth. The Captain relaxes. He is confident in the abilities of the man whom he qualified for the job and who is driving the ship. “OOD, proceed to periscope depth.” “Proceed to periscope depth, CONN aye.” The moment had arrived. The OOD immediately swings into action. “Diving Officer, make your depth six-eight feet smartly. All ahead two-thirds.” The Diving Officer acknowledges the depth order, and calls out through the darkness an order to change depth to 68 feet. He orders an eight degree up bubble on the angle of the ship. The stern planesman pulls back on his control stick and places the stern planes at 20 degrees rise. The inboard station puts the fairwater planes at full rise. This causes the 525 foot submarine's angle to change to eight degrees up. Everyone on board who is not asleep feels the ship bow rise as the boat begins driving toward the surface. They know that the ship will soon be rocking and rolling in the state four seas. The inboard diving station also acknowledges the speed change and shifts the engine annunciator to the All Ahead 2/3s position. The Maneuvering Room immediately answers the annunciator action, increasing speed and acknowledging the annunciator at their station. This causes an “order recognized and will be carried out” bell to ring at the annunciator on the Diving Stand. “Answers ahead two-thirds, sir.” As the boat begins ascending toward 68 feet, the Diving Officer calls out the depth. The Chief of the Watch stands over the BCP valve controls, ready to flood the necessary water into the Depth Control Tank to compensate for the ship getting lighter as she ascends toward the surface. He needs to maintain a neutral trim on the ship when at periscope depth. He doesn't want a barbell effect to put heavy water in the trim tanks at either end of the ship making it more difficult to maintain depth. In fact, diving parties often competed to see who could bring the ship to neutral trim the quickest at whatever depth the OOD ordered. “One hundred ten feet,” the Diving Officer calls out. The OOD places his hands on the #1 scope control ring. He will begin raising the scope as the ship reaches 68 feet , and he will come up with the scope trained directly ahead to ensure that the boat is not about to ram anyone or anything. “One hundred feet.” “Raising #1 scope,” the OOD calls out. In the darkness, the sound of hydraulics fills the air and the Control Room watch section know that the periscope is being raised up out of the scope well and pushed up out of the sail above. Everyone becomes keenly aware of all the sounds around. From the sound of the sea outside through the sonar speakers in the Conn, to the orders from the OOD and the Diving Officer. “Nine five feet.” “Nine zero feet.” The Diving Officer looks toward the BCP. “Chief of the Watch, flood Depth Control from sea.” The COW acknowledges, and moves the switches that will flood water into the tanks. He must match the flooding with the ship weight change to keep the ship in neutral or slightly heavy buoyancy. If not, the boat will broach, exposing the sail or more of the ship to the ever searching adversary. “Eight five feet.” “Eight zero feet.” “Seven five feet.” As the ship approaches the surface, the OOD remembers, “One point one four times the square root of the height of the scope window above the water line. That's how far in miles I can see.” The periscope window comes up out of the water, and the OOD sings out, “Scope is breaking. Scope is out.” As the periscope pushes out above the sea, the OOD quickly sweeps horizontally all around — ahead, abeam, astern, abeam — and then up to look for aircraft. “No close contacts.” he calls out. “Make your depth six-two feet; all ahead one-third.” The diving party responds, and the ship moves even shallower. With 62 feet from keel to top of sail, the scope is about three feet out of the water — giving a view out to about two miles. The huge boat begins to roll side to side. She creaks and groans like a schooner as the steel floating decks react to the heavy seas. But she keeps depth as if held by a magnetic force - the force of a well-qualified submarine watch section. After the periscope depth event, the ship settles back into and under the seas to continue her silent service. And the patrol goes on. -------------------------- ASIDE: Submarine crews often talk about OODs just as they do skippers. “He's a damn good OOD. I'd be willing to bring a boat to periscope depth anywhere, as long as he is in the Conn.” -------------------------- 
back home Robert Brenner made two post-construction, post-overhaul shakedown cruises and nine deterrent patrols - one as an enlisted Navigation Electronics Technician on board USS Lewis & Clark SSBN 644 and eight as an officer on USS George Bancroft SSBN 643. During the last four patrols, he served as Weapons Officer and Officer of the Deck underway. He was the most experienced OOD on the Blue Crew and was in charge during most surface evolutions that the ship made. He was awarded a Meritorious Unit Commendation for special operations conducted during his tour. Brenner began his Navy career in 1963 as a Seaman Recruit at Great Lakes Recruit Training Command in Illinois. He was the Educational Recruit Petty Officer and "Honor man" of his recruit company. With an IQ of 143, he was offered many Navy schools. During Electronics A School, he volunteered for submarine duty and was on the commissioning crew of the USS Lewis & Clark SSBN 644. During his first patrol on the L&C, he was notified that he had been selected for the Navy Enlisted Scientific Education program. He left the ship in 1966 and attended the University of New Mexico where he earned a bachelor of science in electrical engineering. Upon graduating Ensign Brenner returned to submarine school in New London, Connecticut and then attended a number of missile weapons schools before reporting to the USS George Bancroft (SSBN 643). There he served as First Lieutenant, Torpedo Officer, Missile Officer, Assistant Weapons Officer and then as Weapons Department Head. He left Bancroft in 1974 and became an Engineering Duty Officer. He also earned a masters degree in systems management and then attended the Naval Postgraduate School in Monterey where he earned a masters degree in electrical engineering. Upon graduation, he worked on weapons and intelligence programs for the Naval Ocean Systems Center in San Diego. In 1984, he retired from active duty and served the nation as an engineer and then technical marketing manager in this country's Very High Speed Integrated Circuit (VHSIC) program. He was given a VHSIC Pioneer Award by the Department of Defense for his efforts in this nationally sensitive program. From Seaman Recruit to mustang Lieutenant Commander, to defense industry systems manager, Brenner is proud of his country and of the men with whom he has served -- especially his submarine shipmates. He will always hold submarine duty as his career's most enjoyable (and interesting) experience. |
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©Copyright 2002-2005, Brenner Information Group, All rights reserved.
revised on December 12, 2005
