Hunter ordered, “Ahead Flank!”
Back in the engine-room, the throttleman spun the large chrome ahead throttle wheel as fast as he could turn it. The growl of the steam entering the massive turbines grew to a roar as the mammoth shaft spun faster. SAN FRANCISCO leaped ahead. The slam of the reactor coolant pumps shifting to fast speed was heard throughout the ship. Past twenty-five knots, then thirty, until finally the ship was speeding almost as fast as a car could legally go. Seven thousand tons of steel racing underwater.
Hunter braced himself firmly against the chromed railing and stanchion and ordered, "Right full rudder."
He knew what to expect next. The sub was like a very large airplane flying underwater. The large rudder angle caused the ship to heel over to starboard as the ship’s head swung around. The snap roll that ensued was frightening to the unsuspecting, almost instantly reaching 45 degrees. Everyone and everything not firmly strapped down was violently tossed to port. That was the good news. The bad news was that with the rudder now at a steep angle from its normal vertical orientation, it acted as a stern-plane as well as a rudder. The ship’s nose pitched up for a split second, then dropped quickly.
The helmsman and planes man both had to anticipate this and work as a finely honed team to prevent the sub from diving out of control into the depths. Unlike an airplane going into a dive with thousands of feet to use for a pullout, the submarine had only a few hundred feet before it reached crush depth.
Osterburg and Lipinski were the best team onboard. They had to be, there was no time for orders or even communication between them. Osterburg had to pull on his control column so that the fairwater planes went to full rise as he turned the wheel to right full rudder. Lipinski had to immediately yank back on his column to pull the stern planes to full rise. A practiced and skillful team could perform this maneuver with only a few feet of depth change. They had to “catch her” before the nose started to drop. If they were able to keep the nose from dropping, they could maintain depth control throughout the turn.
"Damn it." Osterburg was a millisecond late in taking the fairwater planes to full rise. He stared in horror, his face ashen, as the sub's nose dropped almost immediately to a 45 down angle. The depth indicator hummed as it reeled off the rapidly increasing depth. Everyone who had been tossed to port was now violently thrown forward. The ship’s control party was frozen in horror. No one seemed to know what to do. There were only seconds to react as the sub raced uncontrollably to her doom in the depths.
"Oh, my God!" QM1 Buell yelled.
Hunter was thrown violently to port and forward but maintained a death grip on the stanchion. Was there time to save his ship? Had he asked too much this time? One thing was sure, if this was the end; he would go down fighting. “All Stop, rudder amidships, full rise on the stern planes, full rise on the fairwater planes,”
She didn’t stop. Still SAN FRANCISCO dove into the depths. There simply was not enough time for the planes to take effect to bring her under control before they reached crush depth.
Osterburg pulled on the column with all his strength. His jaw was clenched rock solid as he strained uselessly to bring the ship up.
Chief Jones cried out, "Two hundred feet to test depth, Captain!"
“Emergency blow the forward group,” Hunter ordered. This was the last resort. If the emergency blow did not work, there was nothing left.
"One hundred feet to test depth!"
The roar of high-pressure air filled the compartment as 4500psi air forced the water out of the forward ballast tanks.
"Fifty feet to test depth!"
Slowly the angle started to come off as the emergency blow began to take effect.
"Twenty feet to test depth! Starting to come up!" Chief Jones yelled exultantly. The men in control cheered wildly.
As more water was forced out of the forward ballast tanks, the bow came up more rapidly until the angle passed through zero and the ship started to rise. Hunter ordered, “Secure the blow.” The roar of air stopped. “Vent the forward group, ahead standard, maintain a zero bubble, make your depth one-five-zero feet,” the orders came in rapid succession as Hunter fought to save the ship. He did not notice how tightly he had been gripping the rails until the ship had finally leveled out. His white-knuckled death grip on the stainless steel pipe caused his hand to cramp. The first time he noticed the pain was when it was all over.
Osterburg stammered, “Skipper, I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened.
“That’s the reason we practice, so you don't hesitate next time,” Jon Hunter responded evenly to the young sailor. No sense in letting him see how really close they had come. In combat he might choke even worse.
Hunter slipped out of the control room to go to his stateroom before anyone noticed his sweat drenched coveralls or how much his hands were shaking. A fresh pair of coveralls and a cup of coffee and he would be back to normal.
Bill Fagan knocked on the state room door and stepped in. “You OK, Skipper?” he asked.
“That one was close, too close.” Jon Hunter replied, his voice still shaking.
