Jerry’s stomach suddenly flipped — or felt like it did. Puzzled, he straightened and tried to continue. “If we did hit turbulence, it was really more like a bumpy road than this pitching or rolling movement.” He had to force the last word out, because as his mind was drawn to the motion, a wave of weakness and nausea passed through him.
“Jerry, what’s wrong? You’re white as a sheet!” Millunzi sounded puzzled and concerned.
Jerry swallowed hard, fighting reflexively to control his rebellious insides. As he struggled,
This was impossible. He’d flown all kinds of maneuvers in jet fighters. He couldn’t..”
Hot flashes and cold chills ran across his skin. The nausea was overwhelming. His stomach made another attempt to empty itself, and he flung himself to the side of the cockpit and leaned out as far as he could. It wasn’t a conscious decision to throw up, just an automatic reaction to avoid making a mess in the cockpit.
Millunzi and Stewart watched in amazement as Jerry threw up violently, or more correctly, threw out and then back as the wind caught the vile substance and pulled it aft, spreading it along the sail. It was pure luck that he’d chosen the leeward and not the windward side.
As he threw up, Jerry hoped that once his stomach had emptied itself, the nausea would pass. But just as soon as the first spasm stopped, another began. The gut-churning misery continued for several minutes, until his cramping stomach muscles were too exhausted to contract.
Jerry turned back, leaning weakly on the edge, and wiped his mouth with a handkerchief.
Both Millunzi and Stewart looked at him and burst into laughter. “Look at him. He’s actually green!” the enlisted man exclaimed.
“I’m sorry,” Millunzi apologized, but still laughing. “It was your expression.”
Too near death to respond, Jerry struggled with this new affliction. The novelty and surprise of his seasickness were gone, but the weakness and nausea remained. Could he function? He had to, but all he wanted to do was lie down somewhere. Or throw himself over the side. He really didn’t care.
Jerry didn’t know which was worse: the terrible fact that he was seasick or the embarrassment of throwing up. He didn’t have long to reflect on his dilemma as his stomach lurched again and Jerry had to lean over the edge. In tears from his laughter, Millunzi tried to show some sympathy for his pathetically green JOOD.
“Ahh God, Jerry,
Jerry could only moan a response, but his glare made it clear that he was not amused.
Petty Officer Stewart bent down and took something from a sailor below. Rising, he handed Millunzi a can and a small bag.
“Sir, this is from the Doc. He says make sure Mr. Mitchell takes the pills first.”
“Thank you, Petty Officer Stewart. Okay, Jerry, get your sorry green butt over here. The corpsman has sent up some stuff to help relieve your suffering.”
Jerry took the Dramamine tablets and washed them down with sips of Sprite. He then slowly nibbled on some saltine crackers and gradually began to feel somewhat human again. Millunzi watched him for a while and then asked, “Jerry, do you feel up to finishing up the watch or do you want to go below?”
“I finish what I start, sir,” rasped Jerry. “So unless you specifically order me below, I’ll stick it out.”
“That’s the spirit, lad. We’ll make a real submariner out of you yet— even if it kills you!”
Jerry could only manage a feeble smile in response to Millunzi’s remark. But he appreciated the sentiment behind it just the same. The boat rolled again and Jerry’s stomach felt like it had been turned upside down.
“Uugghh, I can’t believe I’m this seasick!” complained Jerry. “I never had any problems when I flew. I mean, I was never airsick!”
“Like I told you earlier: two very different platforms,” said Millunzi as he chomped down on a Slim Jim. Jerry quickly turned away and kept munching his saltines.
For the next two hours, Jerry fought his queasiness and tried hard to concentrate on his duties. And while the medication reduced the effects of his seasickness, it certainly didn’t get rid of them. Still, he managed to stand the rest of the watch without making a complete fool of himself. Next time, he thought, I’ll get some of those patches that prevent this sort of thing from happening. Mercifully, the nearly six-hour-long surface transit finally drew to a close.
At 1711, control reported that the latest sounding was 115 fathoms, or 690 feet, and that it was almost time to dive the boat. Since Jerry and Millunzi would have to rig the bridge for dive, which would cause them to lose their ability to safely drive the sub, Lenny Berg assumed the deck and the conn down in control.
“Let’s hop to it,” announced Millunzi. “Petty Officer Stewart, you get the sound-powered phones and the colors while Mr. Mitchell and I get the suitcase and the other electronics.”
Stewart acknowledged the order and pulled the sound-powered phones from the jack and screwed the cap over the external connection. Millunzi showed Jerry how the other equipment was removed and the external connections made watertight. Finally, the windscreen and flagpole were unbolted and handed down. Once everything had been removed, Millunzi and Jerry raised the clamshells and locked them into place. These two doors faired the cockpit area into the rest of the sail, presenting a smooth, streamlined surface to the water as it flowed over the sail. By doing this, a significant source of flow noise — like the tone that is made by blowing across an empty Coke bottle — was eliminated.
Jerry and Millunzi then climbed down the ladder, with Millunzi shutting and securing the upper and lower bridge access trunk hatches. After that, Millunzi reported, “Chief of the Watch, the bridge is rigged for dive, last man down, hatch secure.” The Chief of the Watch then reported to Berg that the ship was rigged for dive, that is, all conditions had now been met to allow the submarine to safely submerge.
Millunzi stepped up on to the periscope stand, talked briefly with Berg, and reassumed the watch as Officer of the Deck. Jerry waited until the two were done and then tried to join Millunzi. But before he could a second step, Lenny pulled him aside and said, “Al says you’ve done your job for today. He wants you to sit at POS 1 and carefully watch what goes on as he submerges the ship.” When Jerry tried to resist, Berg grabbed him more firmly by the arm and pulled him over to the first fire-control position.
“Trust me on this, Jerry, Al is doing this for your own good. If the Captain saw you wobbling up there as the conning officer with Captain Young on board, he’d give live birth to a litter of warthogs and then sic them on you! Now sit down.”
Jerry looked up to Millunzi, who drew his right hand rapidly across his throat, meaning stop it, and then forcefully pointed for him to stay put. Recognizing an order when he saw one, Jerry nodded and sat down. No sooner had he done so, Captain Hardy marched into the control room and demanded to know the ship’s status.
“OOD, report,” bellowed Hardy.
Calmly, Millunzi began the lengthy report on the ship’s condition. He provided Hardy with the current course and speed, information on any contacts held, navigation system status, depth of water beneath the keel, and finally, that the ship was rigged for dive. He then took a breath and requested permission to submerge the ship. Hardy paused briefly to check the compass repeater and speed indication on the ship’s control panel. Satisfied with the report, he faced Millunzi and said, “Very well, OOD. Submerge the ship to one five zero feet.”
“Submerge the ship to one five zero feet, aye, sir. Diving Officer, submerge the ship to one five zero feet.”
As Jerry listened to the exchange and acknowledgment of orders, he realized that the same thing had just been said four times by three different people. To an outsider, this whole idea of repeating the same thing over and over again would seem absurd. However, the principle of repeating back orders was adopted by the Navy to help forge a solid communication chain so that the right people took the right actions at the right time. It wasn’t foolproof, but it did considerably reduce the number of errors that were made.
“Dive! Dive!” announced the Diving Officer over the IMC. Then, reaching for the diving alarm, he pushed the lever twice.
Jerry then watched as the Diving Officer, Chief of the Watch, and the planesmen worked together to slowly drive
