Killer: A Novel

By James B. Harrison Jr.

There is no available information at this time.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Dec 9, 2008
• ISBN: 9781462802500

James B. Harrison Jr.

James B. Harrison Jr Born 1938 in a country home in Georgia. Served in U. S. Navy submarine service as a nuclear engineer until retirement. Worked for a large corp. until a second retirement. Took up writing as a hobby along with painting to past time. The novel, Windows, a concept of life is a work based on personnel feelings.

Book preview

PROLOGUE

Standing on a seawall in the late part of December looking down at a strange sea character moored along side that seawall, life began as a seafaring submarine sailor for PK Parker. Like a whale with a hump on its back and a huge nose, this ragged looking hunk of steel was to be his home for almost three years. Young PK wondered what he had let himself into this time when he looked at this odd looking machine with the river water moving ever so slightly by. He was there for the purpose of protecting his country and wondered how this strange man-made device could accomplish that feat. For the next two years and eight months he would learn how this was accomplished and many other things a young man would grow up to experience in his life. He had so much to experience in a short period of time in the life of this young submarine sailor. Facing life and death events, along with happy and unhappy occurrences, was all part of his experiences that would never be forgotten.

The life style he would encounter was totally alien to the human race and would pack many events into a short period of time to be stored in memories to last a lifetime. To live the hard life at sea and play the hard games on shore was dictated by those that had gone before to man these machines of death in waiting. The brave men that endured in the Big War set the precedents for the following generations to emulate for sometime. Diesel submarine sailors would live their life cycles to eventually become extinct, but never forgotten.

There were many characters from all over the country coming together to be called a crew aboard this craft, to live in conditions very few would or could tolerate. These were men of strong will and even stronger convictions in what they were doing. There were thirty bunks for forty men, two small tables on which to eat, seating eight at a time. It carried only enough water to drink and maintain life’s needs at a minimum, no baths while at sea. The two things they had going for them were the good quality of food and the amount of money they were paid compared to their counterparts in the surface fleet. They had to tolerate name-calling, such as bubbleheads and scrounge, to the point that it became the accepted criteria for being a submarine sailor. They had to live the hard life at sea, but it was a relaxed military style with many regulations overlooked out of necessity.

Aboard the Killer this young man from southern Georgia found himself, totally out of his element, being from a dirt farmer’s family. It doesn’t take long to cultivate a mentality honed by close relationships with men from all walks of life from around the country, hard men from the inner cities, people from the bowels of the swamps of Louisiana, men from the mountains of the west, all men of different cultural backgrounds that must live as one group together. This young man would be educated in the techniques to compete for the right to manhood. As a family they lived and survived in this tube with engines and screws to make it go and tubes of steel to defend itself against enemies of this country.

After a short time there was a double culture style of life aboard. There were buddy relationships with the entire crew and a special buddy relationship with a running mate, one who would protect your back no matter what. It seemed strange how these relationships would pair off, but it must have been something they found in common. PK’s special buddy was a young man, Brian, from Long Island, New York, and they would go through this period of their lives closer than most brothers would ever experience.

From the Arctic Circle to the southern part of tropical islands, west to the gulf ports, the killer of the ocean would go in search of its prey to play games and challenge the enemy to a duel. It even transited the Atlantic to Scotland and back before he came aboard, setting a snorkeling record that stood for years. It was as if it were saying, Come out, come out, where ever you are, and play. I can take what you have to give and give back more. At that period of time the Barracuda had one decided advantage, the best sonar in the fleet, or maybe the world. The advances in sonar technology that this boat pioneered were invaluable to the later nuclear-powered submarines in meeting their assigned tasks.

The adventures of the men living aboard this boat were both serious and funny. There was always something going on to keep the morale at a peak and close calls to keep the nerves on edge in anticipation of the next occurrence. The Cuda, this killer’s nickname, was limited in its anti-submarine warfare abilities by its slow speed and its need to snorkel periodically. What it lacked in abilities, it made up for in will power, and it would project that determination on many occasions. After each close call young PK’s mind would wonder how many more he had left.

Characters such as Smithy, Huff, Movey, and Mullet always seemed to be into something to keep the interest up as to what was going to happen next. The old salts that made war patrols in the Big One added leadership and spice to the everyday events that occurred for a blend of adventures to be stored as memories. These memories would be recalled for the many sea stories to be told in decades to follow. We are off on a journey that can only be told by one that lived that life and experienced similar stories as told in this short span of one young sailor’s life. He would learn to love and hate, take and give, and be the first to step forward to get the required job done. Lay on and damn be the first to cry hold enough.

CHAPTER ONE

An Awaking

On a pitch black rainy night head lights shone across the dark water as a taxi pulled up to a seawall in what seemed to be a dead forgotten place. The tide was out and all the young man could see through the window was a black body with a gangplank or brow going down to a deck well below the top of the seawall. There was a dim light hanging on the gangplank and a white banner tied to the rails that had black lettering, USS Barracuda SSK1. It was just after midnight and cold as hell. The taxi driver looked back at the young man in the back and said, This is it sailor, reminds me somewhat of my first ship. The taxi was warm, and he knew when he got out he would freeze it off. How did it ever come to this in the middle of a shipyard in the middle of the night on the 27th of December, two degrees above zero, as the taxi drove off? There was snow everywhere, piled up with what looked like black soot clinging to it. Many of the buildings must use coal to heat, discharging the black to give the snow a dirty look.

The ship (to a submarine sailor a boat) looked small sitting along side the seawall, held there by nylon lines secured to line cleats on the ship and seawall cleats in the concrete. Maybe it was because it was among the other barges and buildings in service around the dock. There were several street-type lights shining on the seawall, pitching shadows across the waterway, which began at Dover and then dumped into the Atlantic Ocean. Portsmouth, New Hampshire, was on the west side of the waterway and Kittery, Maine, on the east side, which was the home for the Portsmouth Navel Shipyard. There among the ancient buildings, dry-docks and whatever else, was anchored the USS Barracuda SSK1, the most dynamic fierce killer of its time.

PK thought to himself, because there was no one around to hear him if he spoke, Was this what I left the cotton patch and warm weather in South Georgia for?

This was the lead ship of her class, the second ship of the United States Navy to be named for the barracuda, a voracious, pike-like fish. Her keel was laid in July 1949 by the Electric Boat Division of General Dynamics Corp. in Groton, Connecticut, (Rotten Groton). She was launched on 2 March 1951 as a K-1 sponsored by Mrs. Willis Manning Thomas, and commissioned on 10 November 1951. There were three built in that class with the large BQR-4 bow mounted sonar array as part of Project Kayo, which experimented with the use of passive acoustics with low frequency, bow sonar arrays. The advances in sonar technology this boat pioneered were invaluable to later nuclear powered submarines. On 16 December 1956 her name was changed from K-1 to Barracuda (SSK-1). The Barracuda was redesignated SST-3 on 3 July 1959 and decommissioned on 15 August 1969 in Charleston, South Carolina, and cut up to become razor blades probably.

It looked like a sick puppy with its patches of rust paint primer splotched all around the deck. Of course, he knew that was camouflage giving this furious beast its character. Shivering in the cold winter’s night with the wind blowing in off the water he made his way to the gangplank and stopped. This beast had the weirdest nose or bow he had seen. He was certainly not an expert on submarines and had not seen too many, just pictures. This wasn’t like anything they had taught him about in submarine school. Maybe this was such a secret weapon that they did not want to talk about this killer. For right now there was not too much security for this secret weapon; as far as he could see there was no one around protecting this monster.

This strange voice was coming out of a hatch or whatever was in front of the sail, Can I help you sailor?

He responded to the strange voice, Yes, I hope I have the right place; I am supposed to be checking in on the Barracuda.

You’ve got the right place, but you picked a hell of a time to check in aboard. You will have to wait until I can raise the duty officer to check you in, the voice said.

PK set his seabag down and shivered in the cold night air, thinking, Just what have I let myself in for, as he looked the boat over fore to aft. Damn, this thing doesn’t look too terrible to me, must have lots hidden below decks.

It seemed like hours, but was probably only fifteen minutes or so before the voice said, as it stepped out of the sail, You can go down at the after hatch.

There, in a ragged foul weather jacket with paint and torn holes in it, was the brave topside watch standing the mid watch. He had a weapon on a duty belt, a holster with the butt of a forty-five sticking out, which PK found out later was just to show authority for there were no rounds for the weapon. They were probably afraid some topside watch would be playing cowboy with it and would shoot himself. If it were required that they should have to defend the ship, they would have to throw shit at any boarders that they would try to repel.

Be careful going around the sail; the deck is slippery and that water is freezing, the voice said, as he made his way back to the after hatch with the voice following. Go on down and I will hand you your sea bag after you are down, it said.

Now that is a chore getting a full seabag down a double-hatched escape trunk on a submarine. The voice, or topside watch, had notified the below decks watch that a new crewmember was coming down. The below decks watch had attempted to waken the duty officer, but he had not yet gotten up. The below decks watch was the one that had control of the sub to make sure it did not flood, have a fire, or fight off any boarders if required. He also wore a belt of authority, but had no ammunition.

It was about eight feet below to the deck, after going through the second pressure proof hatch, as he descended into the bowels of a feared war machine of the U.S. Navy. The topside watch started to lower his seabag down, letting it slip; it came crashing down just as he and the below decks watch jumped clear. The bag grazed his shoulder as it struck the deck with a loud thud.

Damn you, Laylack, watch what you are doing, you almost broke his neck. Have you been drinking gilly (grain alcohol) again? the below decks watch asked.

He looked at the below decks watch and said, Glad I didn’t have my watch in that bag.

Sorry, the below decks watch said, Follow me, we will go to the control room and check on the duty officer.

There was no doubt that the ship was being overhauled. There were cables, cans of trash, and material setting everywhere. The below deck’s watch commented that they were in the final stages of overhaul and wouldn’t be too long before they would go on sea trials. He realized that there was no heat on board because the below decks watch also wore a long foul-weather jacket with his duty belt on the outside.

As they went by a couple of small rooms the watch said, This is the sonar room and over here is the radio shack. Both didn’t have very much room in them, just enough room for someone to sit when on watch.

Then they went through a bulkhead hatch facing a control cabinet of some sort, around the cabinet and forward by some more control panels. There in the control room he could see two periscopes and two seats with wheels that were used for steering the ship and controlling the planes. The conning station was in the main control room, not like the fleet boats that had a conning compartment in the sail. At the front of the compartment was what looked like a table about waist-high. It had a telephone, several books, and a clipboard with a piece of paper that had Below Decks Log written at the top.

Stay here, I will check on the duty officer again, the watch said as he went through a stainless steel door with a small port glass window in it. PK could see into the next room; it had a table with Formica top and bench type seats around three sides with no cushions.

He could hear the watch calling to the duty officer, Mr. Mackenzie, sir, wake up, there is a new fireman to check in for duty.

He could hear someone cough as he got up, saying, What the hell is he doing coming here at this time of night?

Don’t know, the watch replied. The officer finally came out of the sleeping quarters, which he would find out later was the captain’s stateroom, fully dressed with a foul-weather jacket on.

Bring him in here, the Lt. said and asked, Is there any fresh coffee back in the galley?

Yes, sir, I just made a new pot, the below decks watch said.

Now, what can I do for you, sailor? the Lt. asked.

Well, Sir, I have orders to check in to the U.S.S. Barracuda, PK answered.

How could you get so lucky? the Lt. asked, And I see you have been to IC school.

Yes, sir, PK answered.

Well, I guess you will be the new IC LPO. Mamrack is leaving in two months, and he is the present 1st Class IC LPO. He took the sailors sealed orders and opened them. I will log you in; you can stay here for the rest of the night and tomorrow you will take your seabag and go to the barracks; the crew stays in a barracks.

Yes, Sir, he answered. The duty officer then got up and started back to the galley to get a cup of coffee.

The watch said, You can sleep in the forward torpedo room. That is through that hatch pointing forward from the wardroom.

He would find out later that the boat did not have but one torpedo room, but they still call it the forward torpedo because the older boats had two torpedo rooms. He stepped through the hatch where there was a dim light above a stainless steel wash sink. He could just make out what he determined to be torpedo skids, the racks that hold the torpedoes for storage. There were no torpedoes in them now, but he could visualize the racks being full when this killer went to sea for real. How and where in the hell was he going to sleep? He was freezing. As his eye became accustomed to the dark, he looked across a skid of foul weather coats. They had paint all over them, but they looked like the best blankets he had ever seen as he wrapped up in a couple of the coats. He could hear the water slapping against the hull of the ship (boat) as he finally dozed off to sleep. He hadn’t slept in over twenty-four hours. He woke up in a couple of hours when he heard several voices coming from the control room. He still had his blues on so he got up and brushed them off as best he could to go out to see what he was supposed to do.

He saw the duty office was sitting in the wardroom, drinking coffee as he stepped up to the hatch. Permission to go through, Sir, he said.

Yes, go on through, and the officer returned to whatever he was doing. In the control room was the below decks watch, who was talking to several other people.

The watch stopped and turned toward him telling the others, This is Mamrack’s replacement. What do you want us to call you? he said as he drank his coffee.

Well, my name is Preston Parker, but everyone calls me PK.

PK! Okay, my guess is you will have a nickname before too long, the watch said as he gave him directions to the ship’s office. The office was in one of the buildings he had passed on the way in last night. The yeoman’s name is Vernier Doss; he is usually in by 0730 in the morning. I will help you get your seabag up the after hatch, he said, as he started aft.

One of the 1st classes remarked as he went through and laughed, Just got here and moving out already? PK went on topside and the watch pushed his sea bag up after him.

The rain had stopped but it was still very cold as he made his way to the ship’s office carrying his seabag strapped over his shoulder. The ground was still wet with ice slushy because the asphalt was sagging in many places and was full of water, and the rainwater was starting to freeze. The shipyard had come alive with activity as everyone went about his business of the day. There were seagulls flying everywhere, squawking and diving down retrieving whatever they could find for food. The old saying was that seagulls were sailors who had died at sea and had come back to reap their revenge. You had to watch out; it was as if they targeted you when they had to shit. PK remembered his first encounter with seagulls when he was in boot camp, and he did not forget that lesson. He was from Georgia and they did not have any seagulls in them old cotton fields.

He saw the sign in the window, USS Barracuda Ship’s Office, and he stopped to transfer the heavy load he was carrying. The building must be a couple of hundred years old, probably built in the Civil War. The bricks were worn down from the weather and some were starting to fall out of the walls. The lights were on so he guessed that the yeoman must be there, and he opened the door. As he went in there was a 1st class in his dress blues sitting at a desk drinking his coffee. PK thought, If you don’t drink a gallon of coffee a day you are not a submarine sailor. The yeoman Doss had gray hair and wore glasses, and he certainly did not look like a submarine sailor. PK stopped just inside the door wiping his feet before proceeding to his desk. The yeoman’s striker was at another desk having his coffee.

The yeoman turned and asked, Can I help you?

Yes, I have orders, PK said.

Good, how could you be so lucky? You must be Mamrack’s replacement; I see you have been to IC school. What do you know, a fireman as LPO of IC division; wonders never cease. You had better hurry up and make third class or the Chief of Boat will have you on mess cooking, he said as he reached for PK’s orders. Did you check in last night?

Yes, the duty officer signed me in, PK replied.

How did you like our million-dollar hotel? the yeoman asked.

Well, it could have used some heat for beginners, was PK’s answer.

Froze your ass off last night, did you?

Yes, he said as he handed the yeoman his orders. PK would find out later that Doss was also from Georgia, not far from where he lived.

You can sit down over there while I get you checked in, he said as he went about his coffee drinking. You want a cup of coffee? It takes the chill off, he said as he motioned toward the pot. I would suggest you wash that cup. Our pet Warf rat probably dragged his crank across it last night to get even for us giving him poison, and then he turned to his typewriter.

It took the yeoman about thirty minutes, and he turned and handed PK a sheet of paper. This is a check-in sheet. You might as well get going. He gave him directions and said, You can take your gear to the barracks and check in with the master of arms for a bunk and locker; then return here and we will go from there.

Why was it he had to walk everywhere he had to go since being in the Navy? This certainly was not any weather to be slopping around in the snow and rain for a southern boy. He had only seen snow twice on the South Georgia farm before joining Uncle Sugar’s Navy. One thing he had learned since being in these forsaken northern states, you have to be agile when walking on sidewalks. You have to be ever vigilant for snowplows unless you want to be covered up or run over.

He finally found the barracks with a sign saying, Quarters for Sub Crews. It was right out of the World War Two era, bunks two feet apart with white sheets and gray wool blankets. The master at arms had assigned him a bunk, which came with its two-foot wide six-foot tall locker. This was an upgrade compared with all the lockers he had had before. PK began unpacking his equipment and belongings after making up the bunk, his new home-away-from-home, for how long he didn’t know. The yeoman had said come back after checking into the barracks and that is what PK did.

The yeoman told his striker, Take him down to the boat and introduce him to the Chief of the Boat. Just as they were getting ready to leave the ship’s office a Lt. Commander Braley entered. He was a small man with thin hair and a very serious look on his face. You could tell that he knew what he was doing and didn’t take any crap. Most of the captains thought of the Barracuda as a steppingstone for the next command. The yeoman stood up said, Captain, this is PK Parker, the new IC-man. He will be Mamrack’s relief.

Welcome aboard, the captain said stepping forward to shake PK’s hand.

Thank you, Sir, PK answered.

Is the yeoman taking care of everything?

Yes, Sir.

Carry on, and the captain turned and went into his and the XO’s office.

The yeoman striker extended his hand and said, My name is Sanders. Everyone calls me Sandy. Then he turned to leave the office.

PK followed him out into the rain, which was starting to turn to snow. Don’t you just love this weather, just right for ducks and seagulls, Sandy commented. It turned out that Sandy was from the lower part of Mississippi and hated snow just as much as PK did.

PK had changed to dungarees with his peacoat on, but he was still freezing as they walked with their heads turned to keep the rain and snow from hitting them in the face. As they approached the boat the wind had picked up and the water was tossing and turning the boat pretty good. The gangplank, sometimes called a brow, was moving up and down as the boat moved up and down with the waves. Sandy stopped as he stepped up on the gangplank, saluted the flag, and requested permission to come aboard. This was standard practice. Any time you came onboard you requested permission, and when going ashore you saluted the flag and requested permission to go ashore.

They then went to the after battery hatch to go down below. You had to really watch your step; the deck was slippery and lines and air hoses were strung everywhere and ran down the hatch. It was difficult to get by all the hoses and lines in the hatch but they managed to slip by and descend into the depths of this furious beast. For most, on the last four feet of the ladder you would kick out your feet and slide down, hitting the deck with a thud. This was the living quarters on board the boat when it was operating. The starboard side had benches, which would hold cushions with a table that would rack up on the back wall. There were a bundle of rags on the bench and to one side sat a five-gallon can upside down with a cover. He would learn later that this table was used for setting up the movie projector for showing movies. The bench with the rags was the Chief of Boat’s point of origin for now, and the five-gallon can was used by the shipyard guy in charge of cumshaw. He was the one that made arrangements for work to be done, for coffee or foul-weather jackets, or several other items for barter. It was said that more work was done through cumshaw than was done by contract.

The ship’s supply officer knew to load up with coffee and foul weather jackets before coming into the shipyard just for this purpose. Aft was the galley; on the starboard side were two tables that could hold four people each where the meals were served. On the port side was the cook’s point of operation. Stoves and ovens fore and aft, covered with shipyard dust, and a stainless sink on the forward port end which was approached from outside the galley. Pots and pans could be passed through for washing. He would learn later how valuable the sink was for a mess cook to perform his duties. In front of the status sink was the entrance into the sleeping area. There were twenty-four bunks for thirty something men to sleep. That would require a technique called hot bunking to accommodate sleeping while underway or in a foreign port.

Sandy approached the man sitting on the bundle of rags and introduced PK, saying, COB, this is PK Parker, the new IC man to relieve Mamrack.

Chief of the Boat McDivet, chief torpedoman from New York, and a self-professed bad ass, looked up. He had absolute authority when it came to the enlisted men and it was said he had control of some of the junior offices. He had made patrols during WWII in the Pacific, and just how many no one apparently knew. It was rumored that he carried a knife in his boot because he was afraid someone might attack him when he was not on the boat.

He looked at PK with little squinty eyes and a small mouth that seemed to curl up at the ends and said, A new mess cook, huh.

Sandy said, The yeoman said to bring PK down and turn him over to you.

Sit down and we will get on with it, the COB said, looking at him as if he were trash. He said, As soon as you get squared away with Mamrack you will start ship’s qualification. I am in charge of qualification and you have to keep up if you are to get liberty. PK was sitting there shivering with cold or was it fear, nah, it was cold. The boat did not have any heat except a small electric heater that must have been all of fifty watts sitting next to COB. And the COB continued, See the leading seaman and he will issue you a foul-weather jacket. I will be in the office later today. Come by and I will give you your qualification papers, end of conversation, no go to hell or get lost.

Just then a first class, as indicated by the chevrons on his work hat, came down the hatch and said to the COB, What are you trying to do; steal him already? Mamrack was a slick arm first class, very few men could make first class in four years, but here was one. That meant he was highly intelligent and was in an open rate to get advanced. He was in his early twenty’s and had blond hair that lay in waves over his head.

PK had asked to be an electronics technician but the Navy had though better of it and had made him an Interior Communications technician (an IC man). That may be a good thing after meeting a slick arm first class showing just how fast you could make rate. That had to mean the rate was wide open and with a little work you could move right up in rate and pay.

The COB said, I am turning him over to you for now, and went back to his sea story with the cumshaw expert.

Mamrack turned and said, We have a workspace off the boat for the yard period, but we are starting to move back onboard. Follow me and we will get you started. He then turned and went up the after battery hatch. As they were walking to the workshop building Mamrack said, Don’t shy away from the COB, his bark is worst than his bite. He is an asshole, but just give him his distance and you will be all right.

At least the building where the workspace was had heat; maybe he could warm up some. As they went into the cage area Mamrack said, We share this with the electricians. We only have about two more months and we will be starting sea trials. You know you will probably be the youngest LPO in the submarine force, and then he started introducing him to everyone. Of course, over in the corner was a coffee pot and he asked, Would you like a cup?

Yes, we muster every morning on the pier, weather permitting. If not, we then muster over in the other part of the workspaces. I will take you down to the boat this afternoon and start your training. We eat in the mess hall over in the next building where all the crews in the shipyard eat. They serve from eleven to eleven thirty for the relieving watches and twelve to two for regular meals. They have midrats for on coming watches and drunks returning from a hard night in the Pump Room. Oh, the Pump Room is the enlisted man’s club on the shipyard. I am sure you will learn soon enough, Mamrack continued.

We stop work at sixteen hundred if there is nothing important going on. You have duty every fourth day and I am sure the COB has added you to his list. You will have to stand several topside instruction watches before you will become a full time protector watch. You cannot stand below decks watch until you have qualified on the boat. That takes about a year, but if you are a hot runner, you can get your dolphins earlier than that. It took me about ten months. As long as you keep up your qualifications the COB won’t bother you, but don’t fall behind. There is nothing he likes better than to run someone into the deck if you are behind.

This is a good time to be qualifying. You can see just about everything, but as they put everything back together it will be harder to see. Qualification of the boat begins at quitting time and usually lasts two hours. Be sure to wear your long handles because it is cold as hell that time of the afternoon.

PK thought, What do you mean that time of the afternoon? It is cold as hell all the time.

Mamrack carried him through several bench lockers sitting in the workshop saying, These are the tech manuals for the IC equipment on board the boat. Many of these are falling apart and have been taped together. Treat them like the Bible. They will save your ass when you get in trouble with the equipment breaking. These lockers in the control room are bolted down to the deck. The chief of the watch sits on one. You will be in the engineering department; Lt. Ulma is the engineering office. I will introduce you to him as soon as we get a chance. Engineering has the IC division, electrical division, auxiliary division, and the mechanical division that make up the department. Several times different people have tried to combine the IC and electrical division but I have managed to hold out. I am sure the COB and the lead electrician will try again someday, so watch out for him and keep on the good side of the engineering officer.

How did you do in IC school, Mamrack asked?

Pretty good. Graduated in the top ten percent, second in my class, with an 89 average, PK answered.

Let’s see, you made fireman when you graduated so you should be eligible to take the test in a month or so for third. That would take some pressure off if you could make third class. The test is easy and they are promoting almost 100 percent of people that pass. Check with the yeoman and make sure he orders you a test. Let’s go to lunch and we will begin again after chow by touring the boat and going over the equipment that is the responsibility of the IC division, Mamrack continued.

He got up and walked toward the door and PK followed. They talk about several things connected with the job as they walked to the mess hall. The cooks of the boats do the cooking so the chow is good. There are two mess cooks assigned from each boat to work in the mess hall, but I will try and keep you from mess cooking because you will be the only IC man when I leave.

Mamrack talked about getting out and starting a business in up state New York. He thought his father-in-law would be able to get him set up in the communications field installing and maintaining industrial radios. He also felt he could install TV’s, They are becoming the big in thing now. The electricians have to take care of the boat’s batteries. I have been able to keep away from messing with them except when charging batteries underway. They also take care of lighting and ships electrical service. The IC man has to go into the battery well for gravities when they are charging batteries, and this eats your dungarees up from battery acid so you will get new ones each quarter.

When they completed chow they headed to the boat for a tour. Many of the crew went to the boat to work each day and watch over the work being done by the shipyard. Mamrack said as they went down into the boat, You have to watch shipyard workers. They can screw up just about anything. The shipyard did very little for the equipment that we take care of. Mostly I did it. I have completed just about everything on the work list so the rest of the overhaul time will be checking out equipment and completing several small items, while the rest of the boat is being finished. We have the control system for steering, the announcing system, the sound powered telephone system, along with the IC switchboards and topside communications; all will have to be checked out. We still have quite a lot to finish and shortly you will have a lot to take care of.

Boy, PK thinks to himself, I will be lost; I hope Mamrack did a good job during rebuild.

They began in the torpedo room where Mamrack showed him the phones and communications panel, the 2MC. There were a few other hydraulic controls for the bow planes. The torpedo room was a maze of pipes and valves to support and control four torpedo tubes, the boat’s main and only armament. There were two layers of racks or skids to hold the torpedoes and several bunks up high above the skids. They went into the wardroom, which was a table and benches, and the captain’s stateroom, if you could call it a stateroom, where there were one of every communications boxes that the ship had. Access to the forward battery well was in the wardroom. From there they went into the control room. This was where most of the equipment was located and where he would start standing his watch’s while underway. On the starboard side was the IC switchboard, power for all the ship’s controls. Next to that was the quartermaster’s station, a table on top of a piece of navigation equipment that was seldom used. The quartermaster assisted in navigating the boat and kept the maps, charts, and ship’s log.

Two people had control of the ship; the one on the left, called the helmsman, controlled the rudder and the boat’s bells (speed), and the one on the right called the planesman controlled the planes and took depth readings. At the port side of the control room was the station for the chief of the watch. This was manned by a chief or 1st class. He controlled the movement of water for ballast, the air used for aiding the control of the ship, and the air to the ballast tanks for up and down movement. Air in the ballast tanks would keep the boat on the surface, and how much air determined how high it would ride in the water. Letting the air out of the main ballast tanks and allowing water in, would give the boat negative buoyancy causing it to sink. After it was at the depth desired, water would be pumped in or out to maintain zero buoyancy. Once the boat was trimmed to zero buoyancy the bow and stern planes (like wings on an airplane) were used to control the depth.

The compartment below the chief of the watch’s station was the pump room. Most of the ship’s service equipment was located in this compartment, which was part of the watertight compartment called the control room. There was a raised deck in the middle of the control room where the diving officer or conning officer stood his watch. There were two periscopes, one for navigation and general-purpose and the other was an attack periscope used when tracking and shooting the weapons. It had a tall slender neck that housed the lens, which made less wake and was harder to see from the surface. Here there was a complete arrangement of the boat’s communication equipment, which was the IC man’s responsibility to maintain. On the starboard side of the boat’s control station was the Mk. 102 fire control system, supposedly the most modern of its time. He would find out later it may work and it may not. It was supposed to allow a torpedo attack using sonar without having to raise the scope.

Going aft, at the water tight control room hatch, was the ship’s MC control panel, allowing just enough room to slide by to enter the after battery and berthing compartment. Just as one entered the after battery on the starboard side was the radio shack and on the port side was the sonar room. Each had room for only one person to operate the equipment. Next was the crew’s recreation lounge, which he found out later was berthing when the ship was commissioned. The crew opted to remove the racks and use hot bunking to allow for the recreation lounge. Then the mess hall had a two-table arrangement on the starboard side and the galley on the port side. Access to the after battery was the area below the walking deck with the refrigerated storage room. Just aft of that was the restroom (head in nautical terms). It consisted of two commodes and wash sinks with mirrors. Because there was no still to make potable water, the only people allowed to take showers while underway were the captain, cooks, and mess cooks. You could take a salt-water shower in the engine room if you desired, but most opted to stay dirty or use the FAC system. That was washing the face, ass, and crank with a washcloth before shaving.

The next compartment was the engine room. There were three fast speed GMC (Jimmy) diesel engines attached to generators. These were used to charge batteries and run the DC motor attached to the reduction gears for the screws. The batteries could propel the ship at about twelve knots on the surface and nine to ten knots while submerged, a real screamer. The propulsion was an electric motor attached to a reduction gear, which had the shafts and screws attached. The motor and reduction gear was located in the last watertight compartment called, of course, the motor room. Mamrack said that the IC man along with the electricians had to man the generator control panel at sea and in port for charging batteries after you were qualified if you had the duty. He would find out later that this compartment could become rather hot when operating down south. That completed the tour and coverage of all the equipment he would be responsible to maintain. It was sixteen hundred, quitting time, so they headed to the barracks.

This was the time that he would get to know the crew, take showers, and prepare to go on liberty. There were usually poker games running twenty-four hours on the weekend and sometimes during the week. Thirty-two enlisted men didn’t take long to learn each other’s names and histories. The crew ranged from the 1st class cook, who made eleven war patrols, 1st class auxiliary man, three patrols, chief engineman, four patrols, and each had stories to tell. The cook was stranded on a Pacific island for four months. The engineman’s boat was sunk by the Germans, and he was picked up by a Dutch sub before it was sunk. Needless to say, he was a little shaky. The auxiliary man’s story was the strangest. He was eighteen and made a patrol, returned, and was transferred to another boat. The one he was on went out and was never heard from or located. He made a patrol on the second, returned, and again was transferred. That boat went out and never returned. When that happened the third time, he asked to be given three months off before making the fourth patrol. The war had ended by the time he could return to sub duty. Of course, there was the Chief of the boat who made war patrols; these were the vets, the real heroes of the submarine service.

The COB would raise his right hand and make a fist saying, This is the hand, the hand that pushed the firing switch that killed many hundreds of Japanese; don’t defy this hand.

PK had taken a shower and was returning to his little space that was his home-away-from-home to get dressed. There were several of the crew that had dressed and were waiting before going on liberty, when a second class radioman came over to his rack and stuck out his hand to shake saying, My name is Breat, come on, get dressed and go with us for an evening of entertainment. We are going to the Pump Room.

PK knew if he were invited by one of the crew, especially one that was wearing dolphins, it was to be considered an honor and he was not to say no. So he hurriedly got dressed and sat down on his bunk. There were lots of joking and comments of making a run on the fat barmaid. They were really pushing one of the guys, a chubby seaman named Huff, about taking her home and making out with her.

Someone said in the back, You know, Huff, you and her could really keep each other warm on these cold nights. I guess she had quite a rep. for taking on the crews in the shipyard at one time or another.

Breat turned and spoke in a loud voice, Come on, sailor, it’s eight o’clock, time to go and be somebody. Breat then slapped him on the back and said, There are good times to be had by all, and the group made it out the barracks doors.

One thing about the submarine service, they were not spit and polished as the rest of the Navy. They were allowed to go to the Pump Room in dungarees, but most went in dress uniforms or civvies in case they decided to go into Portsmouth or Kittery. He knew he didn’t want to go into town yet so he wore freshly starched dungarees. Breat seemed to have taken him under his wing as he explained that this was just a bar for the sub sailors whose ships were in the shipyard for overhaul or under construction. This bar had quite a reputation going back to the Second World War when there were many ships built in this shipyard. It was mostly an overhaul shipyard now.

The Pump Room was several buildings down from the barracks so it was quite a trip if you had too much to drink. PK had never drunk anything that had alcohol in it, but he did not let on. He thought that Breat sensed it, but he said nothing when Breat asked him what he would have. I will buy the new man his first round, he told the bartender.

It was not too long before the alcohol was loosening the tongues, and the crowd was getting loud. The jukebox was cranked up to a hundred decibels, and everyone was having a gay old time.

One of the seamen from the boat who had been on board for several months (an old salt) came over and introduced himself. My name is Smith. Everyone calls me Smithy. He was about shit-faced by now and just wanted to be friendly. He wanted to tell PK a joke about three sailors going on liberty; he slurred his words and asked, Do you know the difference between a fairy tale and a sea story? The old salt paused, waiting for him to reply.

PK scratched his head and jousted scratching his ass and said, No, I guess not.

Smithy looked at him with a shit-eating grin and said, A fairy tale starts once upon a time and a sea story starts this is no shit now, and laughed before continuing on with his joke.

It was starting to get late; he could tell that he had drunk far too much for anytime and especially for his first time because it was hard for him to walk straight. His first time at playing sailor (submarine sailor) was going to be a challenge, mainly getting back to the barracks going through all that snow that had been plowed up. He thought maybe he would let the old salts, Smith or Huff, lead the way, and if they fell he would know where not to try and walk. Breat and some of the other crew had decided to go over to Kittery to finish the night. He could tell this was going to take some getting used to if you were going to play sailor and work the next day.

He allowed Huff, the old salt, to be the leader as they started back to the barracks. As they staggered out the door of the Pump Room Smithy was saying, Man, you had her set up for the night. Why didn’t you go home with her?

Huff slurring his word said, I couldn’t. I’ve got the duty tomorrow and didn’t want to be hung out.

As they made their way toward the barracks falling over snow banks and slipping and sliding, he could feel himself getting sick. He wondered how many of these snow banks had been christened. Now that was how to make a good impression on your new boss tomorrow, going in with a hangover. He went sliding down the sidewalk where the water had frozen and it was slick as owl shit. Boy, this was a great start at his new duty-station! He picked himself up and dragged Huff out of a snow bank. Smithy was just watching the show and laughing and then it was his time to go down on the ice.

CHAPTER TWO

Learning the Ropes

It was Friday thank goodness; it had been a long and hard week. The pace was picking up to try and meet an early date for sea trials. PK had just finished his shower when several seamen came in and asked him if he wanted to go to a local high school basketball