It was a clear, dark night. The moon was high in the black abyss of the sky and the stars glistened like little flakes of metal embedded in paint applied to a car or boat from the late ’70s, mostly referred to as “stripper glitter.” The air was warmish but when the breeze kicked in, it was almost cool enough to put on a sweatshirt. I’m not sure if there were any clouds that night, and frankly, I only know that it was night because of the time the clock said and the knowledge that the moon gets high in the sky and the stars are always out. The time was 2 AM, when most people are staring at the backs of their eyelids, but I was under the ocean in a US Naval Submarine. 2 AM is the mid-watch, which happens to be in the middle of the night, and I was wide awake.
We were at Battle Stations Torpedo simulating the experience of actually being in a gunfight with another submarine. The entire boat was in a constant state of hustle and bustle. People were quiet at times, concerned and attentive at times, and working their tails off at other times. When we were rigged of ultra-quiet the only thing you could hear was a high-pitched whistle from the ventilation blowing out the chilly air and a faint sound of thumping from the hull, a sound that resembles hitting a school of fish or dolphins, perhaps. We just sat there, quiet—actually ultra-quiet. In the Torpedo Room, the torpedo tubes were loaded for launch with our practice weapons.
“Fire Panel, Torpedo Room, tubes 1, 2, 3, & 4 tube-loaded for launch, tube 4 flooded down, equalized, muzzle door open. Ready for launch at your command,” broke the silence as I radioed to Control with excitement, anticipation, and fear. We continued to wait there in complete silence for what seemed to be forever. There were a few radio announcements that came across that brought adrenaline to our core, only to be let down when Control was scared to launch, by the words, “check fire.” Two words that ruined the rush like your mom and dad catching you with your first cigarette.
Then, “Torpedo Room, Fire Panel, launch tube 4.”We all jumped up ran to our respective places to monitor the situation.
“Click, Click… Whoosh!” The velocity of 2000 pounds of air being let go to the ejection pump filled the area around tube 4 with musty air that smelled like turning on the air conditioning for the first time in June, as the air was exhausted it turned into condensate, similar to cool evening fog in a cemetery around Halloween. As the fog cleared, we all waited in anticipation high fiving saying,
“I’m glad they finally got the guts to pull the trigger” we all said, referring to the timid Officer of the Deck and Commanding Officer, for this was still a training exercise and didn’t need to be so elaborate.
Finally the word came across. “Torpedo Room, Fire Panel, target acquired, target hit. Cut the wire, tube 4”
“Cut the wire tube 4, Fire Panel, Torpedo Room, aye,” I replied back with excitement knowing that this evolution was about to be over. The cut happened, and then nothing. Normally a “zing” would be heard from the metal flex hose that housed the guidance wire, when it was leaving the tube, but we heard nothing of the sort, just the sounds of a high pitched whistle and light thumping.
“Fire Panel, Torpedo Room, wire cut, did NOT hear wire leaving tube. Recommend 10 degree down bubble and right hard rudder,” I announced, trying to get the flex hose (which is commonly referred to as the wire) to be pulled out by the force of the water. After maneuvering around we attempted to close the muzzle door, and drain down the tube.
“Fire Panel, Torpedo Room, tube 4 muzzle door shut, tube drained down, but not dry, recommend flooding down tube 4, equalizing, and launching water slug to clear the wire” my boss said over the radio. For now he was stepping in to deal with Control and Fire Panel. Concerns were rising that the wire got caught somewhere in the tube, not allowing the muzzle door to come shut and seal seawater from entering the tube.
“Aye,” said Fire Panel. More maneuvers were being made to help us. The feeling of laying down in an elevator, mixed with the taste of food from my last meal was starting to burn my throat along with throbbing temples from biting down on my teeth trying not to vomit.
“Water slug launched,” I heard someone say quietly in the distance because my hearing was being muffled by a sharp ringing of fear that this may not be a good thing. As I looked around, everyone was staring at the tube trying to cut the wire again, trying to “think” the wire out of the tube, trying to figure out what was happening. But it was to no avail.
“Fire Panel, Torpedo Room, wire is still caught in tube, recommend securing from battle stations, coming up in depth and manually clearing the wire,” my boss said to Control.
Before I could get a grasp of what was happening, the Captain, Executive Officer, Weapons Officer, and Chief teleported themselves to tube 4. Everyone important was there, breathing down our necks like honey badgers ready to fight, ready to get SOMEONE in trouble. The word came across that we were not going to secure from battle stations and that we were not going to reduce depth (too much) because of the evolution we were in.
Now fear fell over me, because this was real. The wire had been caught somewhere in the tube, and was blocking one of the two doors that seals out the ocean from filling our “people space.” Moreover, someone had to go in there and make it leave the tube.
Next thing I knew my boss handed me a tool. It was heavy and cold, silver, with rubber coated handles. It had a single jaw on it and it curved in a semi-circle, looking dangerously close to a pair of tree trimmers, only hand-held. He showed me how to use this thing. You had to push a lever down on the handle to release the jaws making them open. Then as you squeezed the handles it would ratchet the jaws closed, a fraction of an inch at a time.
I looked at him and asked, “Are you serious?” with doubt and fear.
With a serious smile, and a pat on the shoulder he said, “It’s your turn Cerveny, you are the junior one! You want to be a Torpedoman! You want to advance fast! You’re the one! This is it!”
I just stood there, mouth open, regretting all my persuasion to advance, and to be the best Torpedoman the boat has ever seen. In total shock and confusion, not really knowing if I was dreaming or not, I followed as he pulled me closer to the tube and told me to take off my boots and socks. He continued to give me instruction on what I needed to do while I took the 21-foot dive into the tube. His voice was muffled and I don’t remember everything he said to me. It was like hearing someone talk through a paper cup and string telephone. All I remembered was something like, “I’m going to hold down the drain button that will satisfy the interlock to open the breech door. You are going to dive the tube as fast as your ass will get you to the muzzle, take that tool, and cut the wire as close to the door as you can, throw out the wire, and haul ass out of there. Oh, and there is going to be water everywhere. Spraying in from the pinch point at the door… But don’t be too worried, there is 3000 pounds of hydraulic pressure holding that door closed.”
And the process began.
The breach door came open. Within a few seconds the warm, dirty-colored sea water came pouring out of the opening like a water slide at Great Wolf Lodge, making our feet wet. With a sense of confusion, concern, and awe I looked at my boss and said, “Don’t you dare close this door behind me!!!” He just looked at me shaking his head in a “NO WAY” motion and signaling with his pointer finger, he said one simple word: “GO.” One word never had so much meaning and importance before. I remember thinking, “Go!!! Are you serious? Couldn’t you have said something better than, go? Something like, ‘you’re awesome, I have faith in you.’ Before I knew it, something came over me. It was a feeling of pride that I was doing this for my country, honor that he trusted me with the tool more than others and I was going to be the hero of the day, and disbelief that this was actually happening.
With a flashlight in my mouth, I took the leap. Crawling on my belly I was instantly soaked and my coveralls became heavy with the weight of the water making it difficult to move as fast I wanted to. Every groove that was machined in the barrel of the tube felt like zipping your finger nail on a lenticular 3D hologram picture of Spiderman out of a box of Cracker Jacks, only on my entire torso. As I continued to army crawl over the slide valve, I knew I was half way. The light was reflecting off the spray of water like high beams in dense fog, making it almost impossible to see anything. Every movement, it made the beam of light look like a Hollywood red carpet event spinning around the sky. I knew I was approaching the muzzle door where the wire was pinched because a sound like a librarian sushing a group of defiant kids was getting very loud from the water spray. My contact blinked out of my right eye. I looked back to see the hole I came from—I saw it flashing like a strobe light from people’s heads peeking in to see if I was okay, blocking the light from the torpedo room. I whipped my head around to take a mouth full of water. The jet stream hit that spot on your throat where it makes you gag and cough followed by the burning of your tonsils and up into your nose, like being caught off guard from the surf at a beach. I could feel the muzzle door because I ran into it with my head. In my right hand was the tool. I released the lever and the jaws sprung open. While shaking my head, spitting out water, and gasping for breath, I felt like someone was pulling a horrible prank on me at a water park—holding me down and spraying me with a water gun.
Since things were blurry from the fog and loss of eyesight in one eye, I felt the wire and where it was pinched at the door. I could feel the adrenaline speeding through my body like an IV of saline in a dehydrated patient. It felt good and made me feel alive, alert and shaky. With every ratchet of the tool I could feel the blade cut through the metal, fractions of an inch at a time. Then CRACK! I felt nothing. And the tool did not ratchet any more. Confused as to whether I cut through the wire or not, I pulled. The tool was being pinched against the muzzle door. I was too close. Disbelief ran over me as I frantically reached for the lever to release the jaws. There was so much tension on it was too difficult of a job for one thumb. So I used two. Pushing down on that lever made my arms quiver with muscle exertion until my entire body was shaking applying all my heart, body, and soul into my two little thumbs. POP! It came loose. Without even checking if the tool was broken or not I attempted the same ordeal again, only about 6 inches from the door. This was a lot easier. I quickly ratcheted the handles until it was too hard to squeeze any more. I felt like I was in the tube for eternity. I kept saying to myself out loud, “Come on, come on!!” while still spitting out the worst-tasting salt lick. The wire was cut. I grabbed the wire, looked behind me, and with one swoop of the wire, I threw it backwards almost moving it a foot. “Well that sucked” I thought. I grabbed it again, rolled over to my back and chucked it between my legs with a force that made me sit up, banging my head on the top of the tube. Then I threw out the tool. Rolling back to my belly I arm-over-armed backwards toward safety, dryness, and warmth that was calling out from behind me.
All of a sudden two warm hands, like saviors, grabbed a hold of each one of my ankles. My boss’s hands gripped a hold of me as if I were his son that got caught in the deep end of the pool. He knew I was scared, and so was he, but he was still there to rescue me from danger. Then, I was out. Drenched from a salty shower and sweat, I just stood there catching my breath as If I just ran a marathon. I picked up the wire and the tool. One in each hand and just looked at them. I’m not sure what I was thinking but I just looked in disbelief. Next thing I knew my teeth were clattering from cold. A water slug was launched to clear the remaining 6 inches of wire. I was engulfed in a fog bath of condensation.
“Fire Panel, Torpedo Room, water slug launched from tube 4, tube 4 drained and dry.”
“Tube 4 drained and dry, Torpedo Room, Fire Panel, aye.”
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