Jon Hunter often related the story of how he had been counter-detected by a Soviet Charlie class SSGN because a mess-cook had decided to use a hammer to bend over the clips on a TDU can. The tale of the ensuing active sonar dogfight made true believers out of the crew.
28 May 2000, 0430LT (1530Z)
“Captain, Navigator,” The 21MC speaker in the CO’s stateroom blared. “Just received the fourteen-forty-five Zulu message traffic. It has a message from CHICAGO to SUBPAC. She did not detect us and had no other contacts either,” LCDR Jacobs reported from radio.
Hunter was instantly awake. He had just drifted back to sleep a few moments before, after observing the trip to periscope depth. Bringing the ship to periscope depth was the most hazardous evolution a submarine routinely performed. A quiet ship could easily be immediately above them and not detected until they were on their way up. It required immediate action to avoid collision. For this reason Hunter was always in the control room to observe any trip up to periscope depth, just as his mentors had been when he was still a pup.
Hunter left control after ensuring that they were safely alone in this stretch of the South Pacific and fell on his bunk, exhausted. LCDR Jacobs was going to ventilate the sub with fresh air while copying the radio broadcast and verifying the accuracy of his navigation with a GPS fix.
“Thank you, Nav. Looks like the sound-quieting program is working,” Hunter replied, before falling into the oblivion of slumber.
Although SAN FRANCISCO conducted many tests and sound trials to make sure that they were as quiet as possible, the best test was still to have another highly proficient sub try to find them. That CHICAGO could not was a comforting affirmation of their efforts. If the CHICAGO couldn’t locate them, chances were very good that no one else could, either.
8
29 May 2000, 1830LT (30 May, 0330Z)
Sam Stuart snatched another pork chop from the large platter. "I'm telling you, Nav, it’s a fool proof system."
He slapped the chop on his plate and reached for the sweet potatoes. "You can always tell the main course when you first walk in the wardroom, way before the cook serves. Cooks always put the veggie on the table with the salads. Meat is still in the warming oven. Problem is, you don’t know what it is and you want to know whether to pig out on the salad or hold off for the meat. Now, problem solved. Just use my Meat Indicator System."
Warran Jacobs looked up, chewing reflectively. He swallowed and said, "OK Eng, prove it."
"Take tonight as a test case. Pork chops. The meat indicator for pork chops is lima beans, always lima beans. There was a bowl of lima beans on the table when we walked in. Applesauce for sliced pork, mashed potatoes for fried chicken. I've got it all worked out."
Bill Fagan joined in. "You could always read the Plan of the Day. I put the menu in it."
Both Stuart and Jacobs looked at Fagan and shook their heads. In chorus, they replied, "Nah! XO, nobody believes the POD!"
The cooks shuttled in platter after platter heaped with steaming hot food. The good-natured banter died as the men shifted their attention to the meal. Gradually the feeding frenzy subsided. Finally, the cooks cleared the remnants of the meal and served up bowls of freshly made ice cream for dessert.
“Well, Mr. Green, that was another fine meal," Hunter commented to the supply officer as he pushed back from the wardroom table. "Where did Petty Officer Swain get the recipe for that clam chowder? It has to be the best in the fleet. Can’t say that I’ve ever had any better, not even when we lived in Maine.”
The evening meal was the one time the officers could gather together in a social setting. Unlike surface ships with their separate Captain’s Mess, a submarine skipper almost always ate with his officers. His personality determined the overall personality of the wardroom. Jon Hunter had served with both convivial CO’s and ones that bordered closely on anti-social. He was determined that his wardroom would be a close-knit, happy, professional group. He frequently likened this concept to “Nelson’s Band of Brothers” after Admiral Horatio Nelson’s famous group of commanding officers before the Battle of Trafalgar.
“Excepting, of course, your wife’s. It’s the standard Navy recipe with some of Swain’s special secret spices added,” Ensign Green responded.
Hunter chuckled, “Sucking up isn’t going to help your FITREP, Chop. Anyway, tell Petty Officer Swain that it was especially good. XO, grab the cribbage board. We’ve got time for a quick game before wardroom training.”
Fagan groaned, “Skipper, you beat me almost every night. Don’t you ever get tired of the lack of challenge"
Hunter said, “XO, don’t give me that. I have it on good authority you were the finest cribbage player to ever come out of Annapolis.” Hunter rubbed his chin reflectively. “And, reviewing the game results, we are about even. I kind of suspect that you are letting me beat you lately so I don’t rank you below the Nav on the next set of FITREPS.”
Bill Fagan pulled the well-worn board and the limp deck of cards out of the drawer as Petty Officer Swain served two cups of espresso. The two senior submariners played their game as the remainder of the officers quietly left to attend to various details of their duties before returning for the evening’s wardroom training.
Hunter made it a policy that all the ship’s officers gather together every week day evening for an hour of
