Spy Sub: A Top Secret Mission to the Bottom of the Pacific

Golden Gate Bridge. Jim McGinn and I sat in the back of the engine room and held the throttle wheels while we listened to the loudspeaker commands from Lieutenant Katz, who was standing watch as the OOD at the top of our sail. It was a gloomy day topside, wet and cold, and nobody ventured up to catch the freezing wind and watch the fog pass by.

After traversing the waters below the Golden Gate Bridge and continuing into the Pacific Ocean, it came as almost a blessing for us finally to clear the bridge and submerge, down and away from the miserable day above. The men standing watch in the control center established the usual down-angle as the Viperfish descended several hundred feet into the silent water, leveled her off, and set a course for the Hawaiian Islands, three thousand miles away.

About this time, Bruce Rossi began to intensify the pressure on me to become qualified on the nuclear control systems. Several of the nuclear-trained men, in addition to my mentor, Randy Nicholson, would be leaving the Navy shortly after we reached Pearl Harbor, and the training of their replacements was essential for the continued operation of the Viperfish.

'Are you working on your engine-room qualifications?' Rossi asked me that first afternoon out, shortly after I left my watch station at the throttles.

I pulled out my qualifications card and handed it to him. 'In two or three more days, I'll be finished with the sanitary tanks and the…'

His jaw muscles pulsating vigorously, he glared at my card, mottled with coffee spots, greasy fingerprints, and blotches of oil from various systems. 'You're doing fine with the ship's qualifications, but we need you in the engine room. Finish the sanitary tanks today, along with these other auxiliary systems awaiting final signature, and get to work on the nuclear systems.'

'But what about all these other systems?'

'You'll have time for them later, Dunham,' he said. 'We need you qualified in the engine room, or Nicholson will have to start goddamn port-and-starboard watches.'

He thrust the card back at me and, with a look like he was getting ready to shoot somebody, huffed away in the direction of the engine room. It was a challenge to be enclosed in the submarine with somebody like Rossi storming back and forth, tightening the screws, pushing and pushing. There would be no escape from his twenty- four-hour surveillance. He would be watching me, asking me, occasionally encouraging me, but always pushing. The mandate was clear: get qualified on the reactor systems, and do it before the Viperfish runs short of qualified watchstanders. Avoid the goddamn port-and-starboard watches for anybody.

Everybody was feeling the pressure, now that we had almost finished the trial runs to test the crew and equipment. The evaluation of our Special Project was now rapidly looming, but the scientists on board would be able to do little with their Fish without an adequate number of qualified nukes. I stared at my card, one whole side of it without signatures next to such items as the nuclear reactor, the primary and secondary nuclear shielding systems, the steam generator systems, the condensers, the feed pumps, the primary coolant pumps, and all the associated electronics that allowed for the safe operation of the equipment. I looked down the passageway at Bruce, his thick arms vigorously gesturing while he talked to Richard Daniels, and I got to work.

Two hours later, I knew everything any reasonable man could ask about the sanitary tanks. I even knew how to blow them, if necessary, and a couple of the forward crew signed off the requirement. I then gathered every technical manual I could find relating to nuclear reactor operations and found a quiet corner in the engine room to begin the process of learning everything I could about how power was generated on the Viperfish

It was becoming clear that before I would finish all the qualifications on board the boat and actually start standing reactor operator watches-contributing something back to the Navy — I would have been in the service almost four years. The process of training seemed to last forever.

The complexity of nuclear power operations, especially on board an operational submarine such as the Viperfish, mandated a long training program. Although it might seem that a college degree would be necessary for any man to be considered for the nuclear power program, I discovered early in my Navy career that this was not the case. To the contrary, one of the most remarkable things about the men of the nuclear program was how many had flunked out of college before joining the Navy. I would have found this even more amazing except for the fact that, before joining the Navy, I too had been asked not to enroll for the semester following my first year of college.

I came into the Navy lost and impressionable.

The Navy is quite good at finding dropouts with the potential for learning the volume of technical information necessary for the safe operation of a nuclear power plant. The search for such men could have enormous consequences because placing them in the nuclear program is a high-stakes gamble. The Navy, effectively, is betting that they can successfully finish the long years of nuclear training and eventually be able to operate a complex reactor system safely, in spite of their previous academic records.

For me, the process began in 1965 at the U.S. Navy recruiting office in Pasadena, California. I had wandered there shortly after receiving a letter, from the Glendale Junior College administration office, informing me that because of my abysmal performance as a student, I no longer could be one.

'I wanna fly jets,' I told the pleasant chief petty officer recruiter in a uniform covered with an incredible amount of gold.

'Okay,' he answered with a smile, as he studied my nineteen-year-old face. 'The Navy can put you in jets, no problem. However, you have to join first and then apply for flight training later. Also, there is no guarantee that you would ever be accepted. How much college training do you have?'

'Oh, about one year,' I answered hesitantly, wondering if D's and Fs allowed me even to count much of that time. I decided not to tell him that I had talked over the matter of my grades with my parents, and it was at their suggestion that I was standing before him. I also decided not to tell him how much I disliked the long and painfully boring lectures about Chinese objects of art and Plato's concepts of life, which had filled my abysmal college experience. I had felt like I was sitting on a train, with no destination, as I watched the mundane scenery passing by. During my entire freshman year, I could not wait to escape and set my own course, one that would include as much adventure as I could find. Finally, I hoped that the recruiter would not ask any questions about my college grades.

'Good!' he exclaimed. 'That's very good! However, the Navy has a special program that allows me to guarantee you, in advance, before you even sign the papers, a special training program that is only for intelligent and highly motivated men.'

He gave the impression that he was going to share the greatest secret of all time with me. Reaching into his desk, he pulled out a large color picture of a nuclear submarine control center and held it up in front of me. I studied the images of periscopes, the clusters of red and green lights, and the group of enlisted men who looked like they were ready to attack everything in sight.

'You could be a part of this team!' the chief exclaimed excitedly and pulled out a stack of papers. 'Just read about this great program. We'll give you a simple test, and we'll soon know if you have what it takes to be guaranteed a future with nuclear power! It is a very challenging program.'

I sat down next to his desk. After confirming that I had no interest in either the Communist Party or overthrowing our government, I passed the test, which seemed remarkably simple, with flying colors. Intent on becoming a nuclear-trained submariner, I quickly signed the enlistment papers that obligated me for the next six years of my life. One week later, feeling the challenge of a fresh future and new opportunity for adventure, I boarded a Greyhound bus with six other new enlisted men. In a cloud of black diesel smoke, we headed toward the boot camp at San Diego and wherever that would lead us.

I soon discovered that the real test for nuclear candidates was not given in the recruiter's office but at Camp Nimitz, in between running across acres of asphalt known as 'the grinder' and tying square knots. The test was designated the GCT (General Classification Test). Actually, it was an extremely difficult and comprehensive IQ test. If the Navy confirmed that an applicant did have adequate brains, then he moved ahead in the system. On the other hand, if the applicant did badly on the test — well, there is a tiny, seemingly innocuous statement in the previously signed enlistment papers that says something about 'the needs of the Navy come first.'

'Too bad you didn't do well on the test, sailor, too bad you're not going to get nuclear training, but we can always find a place for your skills, doing manual laborlike things. We have this big ol' aircraft carrier with hundreds of decks that need to be swabbed….'