Emergency Deep: Cold War Missions of a Submarine Commander

By Alfred Scott McLaren

Conveys in dramatic detail the high-risk, covert operations of a nuclear attack submarine during the zenith of the Cold War

Captain Alfred Scott McLaren served as commander of the USS Queenfish (SSN 651) from September 1969 to May 1973, the very height of the Cold War. As commander, McLaren led at least six major clandestine operations, including the first-ever exploration of the entire Siberian Continental Shelf: a perilous voyage detailed in his previous book Unknown Waters.

Emergency Deep: Cold War Missions of a Submarine Commander conveys the entire spectrum of Captain McLaren’s experiences commanding the USS Queenfish, mainly in the waters of the Russian Far East and also off Vietnam. McLaren offers a riveting and deeply human story that illuminates the intensity and pressures of commanding a nuclear attack submarine in some of the most difficult circumstances imaginable.

Relying on his own notes and records, as well as discussions with former officers and shipmates, McLaren focuses on operational matters both great and small. He recounts his unique perspectives on attack-submarine tactics and exploratory techniques in high-risk or uncharted areas, matters of leadership and team-building and the morale of his crews, and the innumerable and often unforeseen ways his philosophy of command played out on a day-to-day basis, with consequences that ran the gamut from the mundane to the dire and life-threatening.

Readers are also treated to significant new information and insight on submarine strategy, maneuvers, and culture. Such details illuminate and bring to life, with both great humor and gravitas, the intensity and pressures on those engaged in covert missions on nuclear attack submarines.
 

• Language: English
• Publisher: University Alabama Press
• Release date: May 25, 2021
• ISBN: 9780817393564

Book preview

them.

Prologue

Change of Command

IT WAS A BEAUTIFUL, SULTRY HAWAIIAN MORNING ON MAY 5, 1973. USS Queenfish (SSN 651) had just received her third Navy Unit Citation (the second under my command) during a traditional change-of-command ceremony, in which I was relieved by Commander George R. Lehmberg Jr. onboard my beloved boat at the Submarine Base, Pearl Harbor. With George now in command, the nuclear attack submarine and crew that had been an integral part of my very being for the better part of six years were no longer my responsibility.

By now feeling somewhat detached and irrelevant, I stood in a reception line at the Submarine Officers Club in dress-white uniform and sword, with my wife Mary Louise Eisenhower, and Queenfish’s new CO and his wife Jane, to greet family, friends and fellow submarine officers and receive their congratulations. Suddenly I was confronted by a US Naval Academy classmate, a Commander S., who was then in command of one of Queenfish’s sisters based in San Diego.

Well, Fred, he said, I guess you considered us your number one competition in the Pacific! I looked at him in astonishment. I knew that he must be referring to Cold War missions, but I could not think of a single thing to say in reply. In retrospect, I should have been at least gracious enough to say, Yeah, you really gave us a run for the money! However, the fact was that not only had I not seen Cdr. S. in many years, I did not even know that he was CO of a nuclear attack submarine. So I just nodded and smiled, shook his hand, and passed him on to my wife, who looked as puzzled as I was.

I know Commander S. must have been taken aback, if not somewhat insulted by my muted response. In truth, I had never ever considered Queenfish to be in competition with any other submarine, either Atlantic or Pacific, during my entire command tour. I am certain my crew didn’t either. Our job, as we saw it, was always to get our boat and its team fully ready for the next Cold War mission. We would then depart and aggressively pursue it such that all assigned military and national objectives were completed as fully as possible, without ever being detected by anyone—either potential adversarial forces or our own. If we were in competition with anyone, it was always with ourselves and the very best of what we were capable of accomplishing.

Reflecting on this encounter with close friends over drinks later that day, I expressed surprise that anyone would choose another boat’s performance as the standard for one’s own submarine’s performance in the completion of varied and always dangerous Cold War missions. The basic standard, rather, should always be to accomplish the maximum possible for one’s country that an individual boat was capable of on each and every mission assigned—nothing less. In short, just good enough or better than some other boat was NEVER good enough when pursuing US national intelligence-collection or reconnaissance efforts, using precious national personnel and material resources.

PART I

1969

1

Prospective Commanding Officers School, Washington, DC

MY YEAR AS AN INSTRUCTOR AT THE US NAVAL WAR COLLEGE AND MY graduate courses in Chinese government and politics at Brown University ended abruptly on April 7, 1969, when I received a call from Vice Admiral Hyman G. Rickover. He told me very briefly that I would be taking command of USS Queenfish in Pearl Harbor and that I was to report to his headquarters in Washington, DC, by April 25 for three months of special prospective commanding officer (PCO) training on the engineering plant of the submarine. This came as extremely exciting news but also as quite a shock to me and my family.

I quickly arranged to rent an apartment in nearby Alexandria, Virginia, since Adm. Rickover did not want our families to accompany us. I then went to buy the clothes that I was told the admiral wanted us to wear while we were at his headquarters: conservative sport coats, ties, and dress slacks at all times. Bow-ties were forbidden.

Thanks to an understanding landlord, I was able to change the lease on the house we were renting in Newport. My family and I would be able to vacate it following my graduation from the PCO school in late July. Soon thereafter, we would depart for Pearl Harbor, Hawaii.

Suffice it to say, it was a challenging time. We were expected to work five-and-a-half days a week at the admiral’s headquarters and be there by 6:00 a.m., remaining until 6:00 p.m., with a half day on Saturday. During this time we had to learn in infinite detail, through reading the technical manuals and studying the fluid and electrical diagrams, the nuclear and engineering plant of the nuclear submarine we were to command. The course was divided into sections, such as fluid systems, electrical systems, and radiological safety and control. Each section was punctuated by seminars and frequent oral and written examinations.

It was a sink-or-swim time: one could not afford to get sick or fall behind in any way. To allow either, along with failing any of the given exams, could result in an abrupt end to one’s prospective command and submarine career. The PCO attrition rate during my time was probably about one in four.

Each Saturday morning, all PCOs (generally five or six at any time) met with Adm. Rickover for approximately three hours, during which he described situations of concern to him and the Navy Nuclear Power Program. He would then throw out a related question for each of us to answer in turn. For example: Why is the submarine force having trouble reenlisting nuclear-trained engineering department personnel? Not a difficult question to answer honestly considering the long working hours and time away from home that these personnel experienced as a general rule. But one had to be very careful. We soon learned that some answers, if not most, were guaranteed to draw verbal abuse from the admiral. In response, he expected the PCO to stand his ground and defend his answer. To do otherwise could very well end one’s candidacy for command. I quickly observed that the admiral always asked a question beginning with the PCO to his right and then continued on around the table. Hence it was advisable to take the hot seat to his immediate right and get first shot at answering his questions. In this seat, whatever abuse one’s answer might draw would be milder than if one were the last man questioned.

During these sessions, we were often asked if we had a question of our own. I will never forget the admiral’s answer to one of mine: Why are nuclear submarines no longer being named after fish? Because, stated the admiral, fish don’t vote!

Our time with Adm. Rickover and his staff was punctuated every Thursday by several of us being tasked as inside man during his interview of officer candidates for the Navy Nuclear Power Program. During such an assignment, the PCOs so designated were given yellow legal pads upon which to record every word exchanged between Adm. Rickover and the candidate we were each assigned to monitor. Upon completion of the interview we were required to turn in our handwritten notes, and all pages beneath that contained indentations of the words exchanged, to his senior staff assistant. I described several of these in Unknown Waters.

How the candidates handled themselves during the interview would determine whether they were accepted into the Navy Nuclear Power Program. The admiral would be testing their ability to handle difficult situations under pressure. If a candidate was tenacious and kept his head, he would usually do all right. If he gave up in any way, he was certain to be rejected. This included his reaction at being told such things as you are stupid and lazy and the program cannot use you. If the candidate did not fight back and show his motivation to be a nuclear submarine officer, he was rejected.

The days were long and passed slowly. It seemed at times that the PCO course would never end. It did at long last, however, and concluded with a seven-and-a-half-hour final examination and one last session with Adm. Rickover. During this final session, the admiral first handed out what were termed the Wedges. These were triangular wooden paper weights with a brass plaque on each side. Mine said: Presented to Commander Alfred S. McLaren by Vice Admiral H. G. Rickover. The other side said, Oh, God, Thy sea is so great and my ship is so small.¹

The admiral then pulled out his dossier on each of us. From these he would pick something out on each PCO in turn, put a negative spin on it, and attempt to provoke the PCO to lose his cool. How well the PCO kept his composure and wits about him when the stakes were high determined whether he went on to command or not.

In my case he stated that USS Skipjack’s difficult time during its overhaul and refueling at Charleston Naval Shipyard several years before may have been my fault because I was chief engineer just before she had entered the shipyard. It was totally untrue. I was livid! I held my temper though and didn’t say a thing. Afterward, I entered the office of Adm. Rickover’s deputy, Captain James M. Dunford, and exploded. One of his principal assistants, Jack Griggs, was in the office at that time. Both men had been with the admiral from the very first days of the Navy Nuclear Power Program. They calmed me down and dissuaded me from demanding a private session with the admiral. I left Naval Reactors headquarters still steaming but without having done anything stupid.

My wife had, in the meantime, arranged the move of our household furnishings from Newport, Rhode Island, to Pearl Harbor. I left Washington, DC, and joined my family in beautiful Sunbury, Pennsylvania, where we would spend a most enjoyable week of leave with my in-laws, Howard and Emily Eisenhower.

2

Prospective Commanding Officer, USS Queenfish

I WAS SCHEDULED TO REPORT ABOARD USS QUEENFISH IN LATE AUGUST 1969. Following a relatively short flight from San Francisco, my family and I were royally welcomed at the Honolulu International Airport by my former skipper Commander Jack Richard and most of the wardroom officers. How strange it seemed to return to my former boat almost two years from the date I was detached to report to the US Naval War College at Newport. Much had happened since then. The officers and crew had changed dramatically. All the officers and most of the construction and commissioning crew with whom I had served as executive officer (XO) from late 1965 to August 1967 were gone. My numerical relief as XO in 1967, Lieutenant Commander G., was still onboard. He was expected to remain with me until the late spring of 1970, at which time he would be detached to proceed to Adm. Rickover’s three-month PCO course in Washington. I was delighted to find that Queenfish had a superb engineer officer, Lieutenant Ralph E. Beedle, and an equally superb navigation and operations officer, Lieutenant Toby G. Warson. Both had recently completed a six-month Western Pacific (WestPac) deployment on Queenfish and already had several Cold War missions under their belt. The same was true of much of the crew. This was a real plus: it meant that what was to be a new team under my command had already achieved a high level of knowledge and experience under Capt. Richard’s able leadership. We could thus immediately build from there.

USS QUEENFISH CHARACTERISTICS

USS Queenfish was the first of the Sturgeon-class nuclear-powered attack submarines to be commissioned and the second ship in the navy named after a small but beautiful metallic blue and silver fish of the croaker family (figure 2), which can be found along the California coast.

Her general characteristics were as follows:

Builder: Newport News Shipbuilding and Drydock Company, Newport News, Virginia.

Keel laid: May 11, 1964.

Launched: February 25, 1966.

Commissioned: December 6, 1966.

Length: 292 feet, 3 inches.

Beam: 31 feet, 8 inches.

Draft: 24 feet, 8 inches.

Displacement Surfaced: Approximately 4,227 tons: submerged approximately 7,762 tons.

Propulsion system: one S5W PW nuclear reactor.

Propellers: One.

Speed: Surfaced: Approximately 20 knots: submerged: 20+ knots.

Secondary Propulsion Motor (SPM); speed: 3 knots.

Range (surfaced and submerged): Unlimited.

Image: Figure 2. Launch of USS Queenfish (SSN 651), February 25, 1966. (US Navy)

Figure 2. Launch of USS Queenfish (SSN 651), February 25, 1966. (US Navy)

Test Depth: 1,300 feet.

Armament: Four 21-inch torpedo tubes for SUBROC and Mk 48 torpedoes.

Crew: 12 officers and 105 enlisted.¹

Queenfish, like all thirty-seven of the Sturgeon-class nuclear attack submarines, was equipped with the AN/BQS-8 under-ice sonar suite. This consisted of a forward-looking, frequency-modulated (FM) iceberg detector that can be used as ice-obstacle detection sonar, to detect deep-draft ice in the path of the submarine. It also provided a capability of delineating the edges of open lakes of water, called polynyas, within the ice pack during surfacing operations.² The suite provided a narrow, upward-beamed acoustic ice profiler and accompanying recorder to measure and record sea ice draft and underwater morphology directly above the submarine’s sail. The acoustic suite, in addition, included a hull-mounted array of seven transducers, from bow to stern, that enabled the boat to determine ice draft or thickness directly above that hull location prior to surfacing. Queenfish was, finally, provided with two hull-mounted fathometers, or depth sounders, to measure water depth beneath the keel.

Hull, structural modifications, and new equipment incorporated for operations under ice were as follows:

(1) The top of the sail and rudder were reinforced with HY-80 steel to enable the submarine to break through as much as six feet of sea ice during surfacing.

(2) The forward-diving control planes were relocated from the bow to the middle of the sail and could be rotated to a ninety-degree vertical position to minimize impact and damage during surfacings through ice.

Image: Figure 3. Queenfish Arctic operations structural modifications, special equipment, and under-ice sonar. (US Navy)

Figure 3. Queenfish Arctic operations structural modifications, special equipment, and under-ice sonar. (US Navy)

(3) All masts and periscopes housed within the sail, with the exception of the electronic countermeasures mast (ECM), could be lowered within the sail sufficiently to prevent impact with the sea ice during surfacing.

(4) A protective steel ice cap protected the ECM mast during surfacings through sea ice.

Completing the basic equipment required for under-ice operations was a polar navigation suite consisting of the shipboard inertial navigation system (SINS Mk 3 Mod 4); Mk 19 and Mk 23 high-latitude capable compasses; a state of the art satellite navigation system; and Omega, Loran C, and the radio direction finder (RDF) worldwide electronic navigation systems (figure 3).

THE CHIEF OF THE BOAT AND CREW

The chief of the boat (COB) of any US submarine is the senior and generally most experienced crewmember of the entire boat. He and the XO are commanding officers’ right-hand men; therefore, a very special relationship of near-perfect communication must exist among the three. Both must be steadfastly loyal to, and fully supportive of, the captain (particularly a new one) as he works to put together his team for the Cold War missions and deployments ahead.

Queenfish had an excellent COB, Chief Radioman Michael S. Hein, who, I knew, hoped to remain as such under my command. He did so superbly until June 1970, when I needed him to turn his full attention to what would be extremely demanding duties as chief radioman during our Arctic expedition and survey of the Siberian Continental Shelf.

Another with orders to Queenfish was nuclear-trained Senior Chief Electronics Technician Richard L. Dietz. A former US Marine Corps sergeant, he had impressive leadership skills. Having previously met and talked with Dietz at Naval Reactors headquarters back in Washington, DC, I made up my mind that he would one day become my COB when opportunity permitted.³

Both Hein and the XO, Lcdr. G., had worked closely with Jack for the better part of two years. The question foremost in my mind was, how well will they work with me? I was an experienced nuclear attack submarine officer with some ten Cold War and two Arctic operations under my belt, plus a recent four-month stint as a command watch officer during a successful Cold War mission onboard USS Greenling (SSN 614). I thus planned to hit the deck running. Would they be able to make what was certain to be a major adjustment in working with me?

I had been Jack Richard’s pre-commissioning XO at the Newport News Shipyard, where Queenfish was built on an accelerated basis. I was his right-hand man during her launching, sea trials, commissioning, and post-commissioning operations. We had completed a short Arctic operation together, to test out our new boat’s under-ice operating capabilities. We then worked the boat up to a level of training where we were fully ready for Cold War mission deployment by the time we departed, via the Panama Canal, for our new homeport of Pearl Harbor. I knew Jack to be a top-notch commanding officer from whom I had learned and thrived as I prepared for my own command one day. Still, we were bound to have different personalities and leadership styles.

I spent a week and a half onboard, both in port and at sea, as prospective commanding officer. This enabled me to conduct a thorough operational and administrative check before taking command on September 12, 1969. Queenfish appeared to be in top condition materially, and having recently returned from WestPac, her crew was well trained and in excellent form operationally. I did have to laugh, during the course of preparing for the change of command, when Jack Richard remarked jokingly that, although he was extremely pleased that I had been chosen to be his relief, there is nothing worse than receiving an admin inspection from your former XO.

The crew was welcoming and responded good-naturedly to my numerous questions and to the thoroughness of my inspection of the entire boat, from stem to stern and from the top of the sail to the depths of the bilges in every compartment. I did sense early on, however, that there might be some problems with XO Lcdr. G. that would soon have to be addressed. I got the distinct impression that he, more than anyone else onboard, was going to have the most difficulty adjusting to my command style, which was more formal than Jack’s.

Lcdr. G. and I had known each other from US Naval Academy days, but had never served together. Our service had, moreover, been on opposite coasts up to that point, so I knew nothing about his capabilities as an attack submarine officer. Jack assured me that he was very experienced and capable. I would, of course, have to determine that for myself. Lcdr. G. would be my second in command and my right-hand man in all things. He would, in addition, be the boat’s training officer. He would have to prove in short order that he was in fact well-qualified and capable and that I could trust him to loyally support me.

Contrary to what they expected, the XO and COB found that I was not going to allow a relaxed atmosphere to set in operationally just because the boat was back in home waters. What they didn’t and couldn’t know, until it was time, was that Queenfish was scheduled to deploy on a high-priority Cold War operation in early 1970 and then later, in the early summer, slated to undertake the first survey, under ice, of the entire Siberian Continental Shelf. The latter, in particular, would be a very high-risk and unusually challenging mission. Queenfish’s retention of this prime mission would depend entirely on Commander Submarine Forces Pacific’s (ComSubPac) confidence in our operational capabilities, as demonstrated in the months to come. Beginning on day one of my command, therefore, both boat and crew were going to be forged into a closely knit team and remain fully ready for deployment at sea.

IRANIAN NAVY VISIT

An unexpected and very pleasant surprise occurred some five days after I reported onboard to relieve Jack Richard. ComSubPac’s Chief of Staff for Operations informed me that an old friend from the US Naval War College, Newport, Rhode Island, Iranian Rear Admiral Ahmad Madani, had just arrived in Pearl Harbor with a division of four new minesweepers under his command. Ahmad had been one of some twenty senior foreign naval officers, and their wives, with whom Mary and I had become well acquainted while I was an instructor at the war college during 1968 and 1969.⁴

It turned out that, shortly after their return to Iran from the war college in June 1969, Ahmad had been spot-promoted from commander to rear admiral by the shah and given command of a new division of minesweepers, which had just completed construction in Germany. They would be in port for just three days or so for refueling and reprovisioning before continuing across the Pacific, the Indian Ocean, and home.

On their second night in port, the Iranians hosted a fantastic lamb barbeque for senior officers in the area. Although not that senior, Mary and I were invited to come as Ahmad’s special guests and to bring Jack and Ann Richard as well. The uniform was dress whites, and the Iranian Navy hosted us all royally. Mary attracted excited attention the minute she boarded. It seemed that with her black hair, fair skin, and blue eyes she closely resembled the shah of Iran’s very popular former queen, Soraya Esfandiary-Bakhtiari. Even the shah’s secret police, the SAVAK, were intrigued, and their onboard commander, who spoke perfect English, approached and asked her at one point if she was related in any way. Other than having German blood in common, she was not, but it was a great night for her ego.

Jack and I had to turn down the Iranian’s request to visit Queenfish the next day. We did, ultimately, host Radm. Madani and a few Iranian officers for lunch onboard, but were not allowed to show them anything below decks beyond a few spaces in the forward end of the boat. Ahmad and his division departed at dawn two days later, and that was the last we ever saw of him. I learned later that he became commander in chief of the Iranian Navy during the shah’s final years. That ended abruptly, however, when Ahmad strongly criticized corruption in the military.⁵ In the months that followed the Islamic revolution, which resulted in the shah being overthrown in February 1979, Ahmad became the new regime’s defense minister and governor of Khuzestan. He was also a presidential candidate in the first election to be held. He and his family suddenly departed from Iran in 1980 and were believed to have fled either to France or Germany.

FINAL DAYS BEFORE ASSUMING COMMAND

All went smoothly and flawlessly during the in-port and at-sea period preceding my assumption of command. Without giving up his ultimate responsibility, Jack allowed me to act as commanding officer and handle the boat to the maximum. I got the boat underway and made all landings during this period.

He also had me take charge of all diving/surfacing and submerged operations. His only comment the night before I was to relieve him as commanding officer was I am pleased to see that you have not lost your touch. Of course, I was not just any new prospective commanding officer coming from shore duty or a different class of submarine; I had served on both Queenfish as XO just two years earlier and spent an extremely valuable four months during the previous year as a command watch officer onboard USS Greenling, a similarly configured and handling boat, most of that time during a very demanding and successful Cold War mission.

3

Commanding Officer, USS Queenfish

A WELL-ATTENDED CHANGE OF COMMAND TOOK PLACE AS SCHEDULED onboard USS Queenfish on the morning of September 12, 1969. This was followed by a wonderful reception at the Submarine Officers Club, Pearl Harbor. From there, Mary and I, plus all Queenfish officers not on duty and their wives, attended several parties, the last of which was at the Richards’. While we were there, two old friends, Doug and Peggy Stahl—he was formerly skipper of USS Tunny (SSG 282)—called me to say that there had been a fire on my submarine, but it was OK, the flooding had put it out. It was a joke, of course, but my blood ran cold for a few seconds until I recognized their voices and realized that my leg was being