Submarine: A Guided Tour Inside a Nuclear Warship

non-VLS sub.

This change was not made immediately, however. Even though all the Los Angeles-class boats were capable of being fitted with the VLS system, the first boat to be so equipped was the USS Providence (SSN-719). And, because of budget constraints, it is quite unlikely that any of the earlier Flight I boats will ever be retrofitted with VLS missile tubes. Nevertheless, by the time the class is finished building, some thirty-one Flight II and 688I boats will have the system, providing room for some 372 Tomahawk missiles in the fleet. And that is a lot of firepower. By the way, it is easy to make out which boats have the VLS and which don't by whether they are level in the water (VLS equipped) or nose up (non-VLS Flight I).

^{Enlisted mess area, USS Miami. Here the crew cooks, eats, does laundry, takes classes, and watches movies. JACK RYAN ENTERPRISES, LTD.}

The way the VLS system works is quite simple. The missile canisters are loaded vertically from a crane. Each canister contains a complete all-up Tomahawk round, ready to fire. At the top of each canister is a thin membrane of clear plastic, which keeps the missile dry and safe. This is how it stays until the time to fire. The boat comes to launch depth, usually about 60 feet, and reduces speed, say 3 to 5 knots, perhaps raising a communications mast to get additional targeting or a navigational fix from the GPS satellite constellation. Once the flight instructions have been programmed into the desired missile(s), the launch system automatically begins the firing sequence.

The system opens the missile launch tube hatch hydraulically and an explosive charge propels the missile up through the plastic membrane and into the water. After the missile travels up about 25 feet the booster rocket fires, thrusting the Tomahawk out of the water. At this point the missile tilts over, drops the burned-out booster motor, lights the turbojet engine, and heads for its preprogrammed target. Meanwhile the launch tube fills with water (helping to compensate for the lost weight of the missile), and the hydraulic hatch is closed.

The VLS system is causing a revolution in design of new weapons for submarines. It has radically increased both the firepower and stowed weapons load for the U.S. submarine force-all at no increase in the size or displacement of the basic Los Angeles design.

Living Spaces

On the Miami's second level is the bulk of the living space aboard the boat. If you stand aft near the forward escape trunk, then you walk forward, you will find the largest open area on the boat, the enlisted mess area. This place is a combination of cafeteria, schoolroom, movie theater, game room, and almost anything else that involves gathering the boat's enlisted population together. Here are six tables with bench seats on both sides so that something like forty-eight sailors at a time, about half the Miami's population, can sit down at once. Along the starboard bulkhead are such cherished pieces of equipment as the soda machines (no longer do they serve the hated 'Yogi' cola), milk dispenser, soft ice cream machine, and that most cherished of Navy wardroom icons, the bug juice dispenser. By the way, well-informed palates suggest that the red flavor is best, but stay away from the orange! Strangely, it also makes an excellent scouring powder for cleaning floors and heads (all that acid in it, they tell me). Back near the escape trunk is the ship's laundry. About the size of a phone booth, it handles the laundry for the entire boat, with a washer and dryer that would seem small in most apartments.

Adjacent to the enlisted mess area is the galley. Inside a room about the size of an apartment kitchen, the meals (four per day) are prepared for over 130 officers and men. It's amazing that so much can be done in such a small space. There are all the usual institutional kitchen fixtures (electric mixer, oven, grill, and stewing pots), as well as a pair of refrigerated spaces for food storage. Usually one of these is set up as a deep freeze, the other as a fresh food refrigerator, though for longer patrols fresh food is avoided, and only frozen and dry stores are carried. It is a matter of record that the single most limiting factor to SSN operations is the quantity of food and other consumables. Before a long deployment, virtually every spare nook and cranny is packed with stores-food, soap, paper for the copy machines, dry stores, and, of course, most vital of commodities on board a sub, coffee.

^{A mess technician cooking lunch in the galley, USS Miami. JOHN D. GRESHAM}

Moving forward on the port side passageway, you encounter the berthing spaces for the enlisted personnel. I should say here that if you have a touch of claustrophobia, this is where it will manifest itself. The three-tall bunks are roughly 6 feet long, 3 feet wide, and 2 feet tall: about the size of a coffin. Each bunk has a comfortable foam rubber mattress with bedding, a light for reading, a blower for fresh air, and a curtain for privacy. All your personal gear goes into lockers on the walls, or the 6-inch-deep trays under the bunks. For the enlisted personnel, this is the total extent of their privacy. This is even further limited, as about 40 percent of the enlisted population has to share, or 'hot bunk,' their sleeping accommodations. This is because the 688I design just did not have enough room to provide a bunk for each enlisted man. This means that groups of three enlisted men have to share two bunks, with the sleep periods (they sleep in six-hour shifts) rigidly scheduled in advance.

^{Miami's chief of the boat (COB) shows off the three-high bunks in the 'goat locker.' Each bunk is about the size of a coffin! JOHN D. GRESHAM}

On the starboard side of the boat are the berthing and mess spaces for the senior enlisted personnel, generously known as the 'goat locker.' Here there is a small seating area about the size of a corner booth at a restaurant, which serves as eating area, office, and conference room for the chief petty officers. Heading aft from here is another aisle of three-high bunks, though these are reserved for each man.

For the officers there is a separate wardroom for eating, studying, and doing paperwork. It is a nicely appointed area with its own pantry for coffee and snacks around the clock. In the middle of the space is a single table that serves as dining table, desk, and conference table. Unlike the commander of almost any other ship in the Navy, the commanding officer does not have a separate pantry to take his meals. He sits with his officers at every meal, giving it the feeling of a family gathering. The submarine service has always been more informal than the surface forces, and this is part of the esprit that makes the 'bubbleheads' different from the rest. Commander Jones runs a 'loose' wardroom where kidding and friendly ribbing is always welcome. He makes no secret of his love of good seafood, and is a big fan of ice cream. In fact, he is fond of saying that other than having the only private stateroom on the boat, his only command privilege on the Miami is choosing the flavor of ice cream for the machine in the galley. He chooses a rather diplomatic French vanilla flavor.

^{Officers' wardroom, USS Miami. JOHN D. GRESHAM}

^{The commanding officer of USS Miami, Commander Houston K. Jones, USN, conducting business in his stateroom. OFFICIAL U.S. NAVY PHOTO}

As for the commander's cabin, it is hardly the stuff you might find on the Queen Elizabeth II. Located just forward of the enlisted mess, on the second level, it is roughly 10 feet long by 8 feet wide. It is dominated by a combination desk/closet unit in the after portion of the cabin. Against the outside bulkhead is a pair of seats with a small table between them; this unit folds down into the bunk. Commander Jones is proud of saying that it's the best bunk on the boat, and certainly it is the only one that does not have another bunk above and/or below it! On the door to his cabin are three notices. One reads KNOCK AND ENTER and another is, THINK QUIET! IT'S OUR BUSINESS… IT COULD BE OUR LIVES. The final one is a copy of Rudyard Kipling's famous poem, 'If,' not a bad philosophy to advertise if you are in charge of 132 lives and $800 million of the taxpayers' money.

The commander's desk contains a variety of different manuals, a safe for classified documents, and various