Life Aboard
So, you ask, what is it like to live aboard a submarine like Miami? Well, imagine a combination of living in an oversized motor home and summer camp, and this is a lot of what life in the 33-foot pressure hull is like. Not much room, very little noise, very little news from home, and virtually no privacy. Against these “downs” are the esprit de corps of the submarine force, and the knowledge that being a submariner truly makes a man the best of the best in the U.S. Navy.
If you were to go out on a cruise on Miami, the very first thing you probably would notice is that you seem to be bumping into everything and everyone on the boat. This is not unusual for someone new on a sub, and after just a few hours you begin to “think small and thin” so that you can smoothly move around your fellow submariners.
The next thing that comes to your attention will probably be the rather odd working schedule, a watch program that has a crewman working six hours “on” and twelve hours “off.” While he is “on,” a sailor is standing watch; while “off,” he is eating and sleeping, doing maintenance on equipment and systems, and studying for qualification. This creates the unusual standard of a Miami “day” being eighteen hours rather than twenty-four. Unfortunately the entire boat takes on this schedule, which tends to lead rapidly to crew members’ suffering from sleep deprivation. While in theory a crew member is allowed eight hours of “off” time in a given twenty-four-hour period, this rarely works out into long periods for sleeping. Very quickly one loses all sense of time on the surface and back home, and the sleep that one does get tends to be “on the fly.”
The main crew mess area, USS Miami. Here one of the chiefs is conducting a briefing as part of the continuing “school of the boat.” JOHN D. GRESHAM
As for sleeping itself, this is a relatively comfortable thing to do on Miami. With the exception of Commander Jones’s stateroom, the bunks for all the officers and men are about the same size, with similar appointments. And while a berthing space is about the same size as a big coffin, once you learn to think small, the space seems quite roomy. With fresh air blowing on your face and a nice foam mattress, falling asleep is really not much of a problem.
What is a problem is the “hot bunking” required for a large portion of the enlisted personnel on the Miami. This tends to dominate the schedules of the junior enlisted crew members, with a rigidly set schedule for many of the berthing spaces. If “special” or extra personnel have to be aboard, the crew will lay out extra bunks in the torpedo room over the weapons stowage racks. These are actually quite comfortable, with good headroom, though some folks find the idea of sleeping in a room with literally tons of explosive and fuel rather discomforting. Another problem is the lack of personal stowage space. For those with their own bunks there is a 6-inch-deep stowage pan under each mattress, as well as some locker space. For those having to “hot bunk,” three men have to share the space normally allotted to two.
A typical bunk space or rack in the forward enlisted berthing area. These are stacked three high, and frequently two of these will be shared by three men in a scheme called “hot bunking.” JOHN D. GRESHAM
Dining aboard Miami is truly a pleasure, as the Navy goes all out to give the men the best chow the taxpayers’ money can buy. In fact, because of the limited room for exercise, many of the men actually tend to gain weight on cruise. The food itself is simple but wholesome, with fresh fruit and vegetables becoming the most prized items after a few weeks. The Navy has done some rather clever things to extend the storage life of much of the fresh food aboard. For example, eggs are specially treated with a wax coating to extend their shelf life.
The cooks and their helpers (everyone does an occasional stint of mess duty) work hard to vary the menu and make meals interesting, using a galley about the size of an apartment kitchen. Certainly the culinary highlight of a cruise is the traditional halfway meal of “surf and turf” (steak and crab legs). Unfortunately, by the last few weeks of the cruise every man aboard will be sick of three-bean salad, and dreaming about fresh veggies almost as much as he does about his family.
Those dreams of home and family are always at the center of the submariners’ thoughts, though there is very little the Navy can do to give them the kind of communications home that sailors aboard a carrier or frigate might have. The stealth of the modern SSN means that the crew of the Miami is almost never allowed to send personal messages home, and news from home is heavily limited and censored. Word from home is limited to a series (about one a week while on patrol) of forty-word messages called “Familygrams.” Each Familygram is carefully crafted by a wife, parent, or loved one to give the crewman at sea an idea of what is happening at home. An example of a notional Familygram is seen below:
421. DOE LTJG 5/14: REMEMBERED MOTHERS-FLOWERS BEAUTIFUL-THANK YOU. GREAT NEWS. IN CHARGE SUMMER CAMP PROGRAM. THIRTY KIDS. STARTS 24TH. BOUGHT SWIMMING POOL JOHN JR. B ALGEBRA SEMESTER. NO TIME FOR GARDENING, CERAMICS. MONEY FINE-FEW BILLS. SAVING FOR VACATION. MISSING YOU. ILY. JANE
Once the Familygram has been placed into a drop box at the boat’s home base of Groton, Connecticut, it is reviewed by personnel at the submarine group for any security problems or personal bad news. Occasionally the message will be returned for an edit or suggested change. As a general rule, no “Dear John” letters or bad news (death, illness, etc.) will be transmitted to the boat.
In addition, when the ship’s office on Miami receives the Familygram, the personnel will also look over the messages and forward any that look like problems to the captain or executive officer for disposition. The Navy is quite conscious of the sacrifices of those who choose to love and live with submariners, and tries to close ranks whenever there is trouble. As it is, the majority of submariners I have met treasure the Familygrams they have received over the years on cruise. In these notes are news of babies on the way and babies born, birthdays and first words. For the men aboard Miami and all U.S. submarines, the Familygram with its “ILY” (I Love You) greeting is the only news they want to hear. It is their sole lifeline to home and “the world.”
One of the ways the Navy helps the crew keep their minds off their homes and loved ones is to work them very hard. Every day the officers and men stand watches, maintain equipment, and study. This studying, known as qualifying, takes up almost all the “free” time of a submarine sailor. Since the days of World War II, when the sub force had to expand rapidly, the Navy has always pushed its submariners to gain knowledge and move up in the ranks. There is a ship’s library, and video movies on the closed-circuit system, but these tend to be left alone in deference to a sailor’s or officer’s qualification book. In the enlisted mess, there is frequently a class running in what is known as “the school of the boat.” During a visit to Miami the chiefs were running an orientation program on the boat’s reactor plant—all of this while stores were being packed away and lunch being served.
Another function is the ritual of drills. One of the best ways to keep the skills of the crew honed and their minds sharp is to run daily drills simulating responses to various emergency and combat situations. These may range from fire drills (which are run every day or so) to simulated reactor restarts, to chemical spills (“Otto Fuel spill in the torpedo room” is a favorite!), and tracking drills. The drills are an excellent way to keep the crew from getting bored, and the words “Drill Period” on the boat’s plan of the day are both hated and cherished by the crew for the difficult tasks this brings, and the confidence it builds.
A sailor of the USS Miami operates the ballast control panel while wearing an emergency air breathing (EAB) mask during a firefighting drill. JOHN D. GRESHAM
The fire drills are quite interesting to watch. Without the facilities and equipment back home at Street Hall in Groton, the chiefs on the Miami are hard pressed to simulate the effects of such emergencies. For example, say there is a fire in one of the machinery spaces. The XO and his fire response team move to the compartment where the exercise is being conducted, with all the e
quipment they would use if the emergency was real. There the fire team find the drill supervision team equipped with gray tablecloths (to simulate smoke), and they must perform to the ship’s accepted standards.
Other normal day-to-day functions take on some interesting bents on the Miami. Just aft of the drink machines is the ship’s laundry, which hardly seems worthy of the title. At about the size of a phone booth, it has a tiny washer and dryer that would hardly be satisfactory in an apartment unit. Here it serves the needs of over 130 officers and men.
Even taking the garbage out has its exotic aspects. Just forward of the enlisted mess on the starboard side is the compartment containing the Trash Disposal Unit (TDU). The compartment contains the TDU (which looks like a small torpedo tube going through the floor), a garbage compactor, a large sheet metal roller, and the supplies necessary to dispose of the garbage produced by 132 men for several months.
How this is done is actually quite fascinating. The first step is to roll a “garbage can” out of pierced sheet metal. This can is placed in the trash compactor and filled with garbage. Usually the Miami generates two to three cans a day. When the time comes to dispose of them, each can has a couple of lead weights added to it and is sealed. Then the sonar crew does a complete check of the area to make sure nothing is around that might hear the operation. Because of the noise the cans make as they rattle down the TDU ejector tube, it is normal policy to store full cans if the boat is in a tactical situation requiring extreme stealth. In this case, the cans are stored in one of the refrigerated spaces to keep the smell down. When it’s time to eject the cans, the cover to the TDU is opened, and a circular cake of ice is placed inside to protect the ball valve at the bottom. The can is placed on top of the ice, the TDU cover is closed, and the can is ejected much like a torpedo.
A Miami crew member shows off the Navy infrared thermal imager (NIFTI) used to locate fires and downed personnel in the heavy smoke that would be generated by a fire onboard. JOHN D. GRESHAM
The daily life on board the Miami is filled with many of the kinds of things that go on anywhere that many men are packed together to do a very tough job. The boat becomes a place of quiet, with words whispered and steps taken lightly. And on those occasions when a difficult mission or operation comes along, the boat continues the same kind of routine, only more so. Anything that makes noise, even routine maintenance, is deferred to keep the noise down.
And how do we reward such devotion? By saying “Well done,” and giving them more of the same to do. The life of a submariner is one of a private and personal pride, the kind that comes from being part of an elite club that you cannot buy or beg your way into, and you have to perform “above and beyond” just to stay in.
And then there is the ultimate reward of returning these men to their families and homes. It is said that when a boat is going back to base, the engineers in the machinery spaces have a special setting for “going home.” If you have ever seen the incredible spectacle of a warship returning its men to the land, you know why. Every wife and girl-friend has her best on for her man, many with new babies and older children under their arms. If you ever want to know why they do it, look at the loved ones they leave behind in the knowledge that their sacrifices protect those they love most.
America can take pride in the sacrifices of these men and their loved ones over the last forty-five years of SSN operations. Pride for a job well done. Pride in what they are. And pride in what they will do in the future.
The British Boats: A Tour of HMS Triumph (S-93)
After the United States, the largest builder and operator of nuclear submarines in the western world is the United Kingdom. Currently the British operate a force of twelve SSNs and four SSBNs. In addition, they also operate a small force of four diesel attack submarines. While this may seem like a minor force compared to that operated by the United States, the British fulfill an important role in the structure of NATO. In addition, since they are located much closer to potential points of conflict in Europe and Africa, the responsiveness of their submarine force is multiplied far beyond their small numbers.
If you were to travel throughout the world and talk to submarine captains, and the captains of the surface ships who might have to oppose them, and ask them whose submarines they most fear, you might be surprised. For while everyone deeply respects the Americans with their technologically and numerically superior submarine force, they all quietly fear the British. Note that I use the word fear. Not just respect. Not just awe. But real fear at what a British submarine, with one of their superbly qualified captains at the helm, might be capable of doing.
Royal Navy Submarine History
It is somewhat ironic that the nation that may have the highest quality submarine force in the world has itself been more victimized by submarines than any other in history. It was a British ship, HMS Eagle, that was the target of the first attempted attack by a submarine, the Turtle. It was also the British who were the intended victims of Robert Fulton’s Nautilus and John Holland’s early submarines built for the Fenian Society. And it was the British who suffered the most during two world wars from the efforts of Germany’s U-boat fleets. Certainly no other nation on earth has such understanding of the damage submarines can do.
HMS Triumph (S-93). U.K. MINISTRY OF DEFENCE
This is not to say that the British have had an easy time developing their submarine force. The truth is that until the late 1960s, the men who had chosen to serve in the Royal Navy sub force were regarded as pariahs and not considered to be gentlemen by the other line officers of fleet. As far back as 1804, when the British admirals got their first look at Robert Fulton’s Nautilus, the submarine has been considered a sneaky and “damn un-English” way to fight a war. This opinion had not changed by World War I, though the Royal Navy had begun a modest investment in such craft. Ironically, one of the first customers for John Holland’s early submarines was Great Britain, which bought five for experimentation and establishment of her force. Nevertheless, the Royal Navy poured almost all of its funds into a fleet of modern battleships and escorting vessels, keeping funds for submarines scarce. With only a limited force of submarines to use in wartime, the Royal Navy made a point of putting only their most talented officers in command. This wound up paying great dividends, although they did not have the rich numbers and variety of targets that the U-boats had. The exploits of their captains, including the great Sir Max Horton, have become legend in the annals of submarine history, and gave the Royal Navy a tradition they were able to build on.
During the period between the world wars, the British experimented widely in submarine technology. They developed submarines that could carry aircraft and heavy guns, and a variety of new and different power plants. Along with the U.S. Navy, they led in developing the type of submarine that would have the greatest impact in World War II, the long-range fleet submarine. During World War II this force, particularly the “T” class, did the bulk of the damage inflicted by British submarines. In the Mediterranean the “T” boats of the 10th Submarine Flotilla based at Malta sank many supply ships destined for Field Marshal Rommel’s Afrika Korps, helping keep him from the oil fields of Arabia. Several of the “T” boats deployed to the Pacific, for which they had been designed originally, to assist in the fight against the Japanese. They even helped in the ASW campaign against the U-boats by sinking seventeen German and Italian submarines.
Another British achievement was in the area of special operations. Throughout World War II, the Royal Navy submarine had an exemplary record, ranging from the insertion of commando teams to the preinvasion surveys of landing beaches. Part of this record includes the use of miniature submarines, called X-Craft, to damage beyond repair the German battleship Tirpitz and the Japanese cruiser Takao, as well as providing navigation beacons for the British landing forces on D-Day. To this day, special operations are one of the hall-marks of the British submarine tradition.
After the war, the Royal Navy took its share of the German
U-boats and technology that it had captured, and began to work on the development of its own “super” submarines. Like the other fleets of the world, the dream of the British submariners was to find a technology that would allow a submarine to travel at high speed, for long periods of time, without having to use a snorkel tube and risk detection. The RN explored the conventional steps of hydrogen peroxide engines and other air-independent systems. Unfortunately they did not invest in the nuclear reactor program that the United States had started in the 1940s, and wound up having to accept that they had bet on the wrong technologies when it became obvious that nuclear power was the future in submarine development.
Because of the special relationship that had been forged between the United States and Great Britain during the war, however, the United States was willing to sell their reactor and power train technology to the British. So in 1963, the first British SSN, HMS Dreadnought (S-98), was commissioned into the Royal Navy. She was essentially a Skipjack-class SSN from the reactor aft and a British sub from there forward. And while she made a lot of noise, just like her American half-sister, the Dreadnought provided the Royal Navy with a foothold into nuclear submarine operations, and the beginnings of a cadre of experienced nuclear sailors. Following the Dreadnought, the Royal Navy commissioned five additional SSNs of the Valiant (S-102) class. These new SSNs were contemporaries of the Permit class, and used U.K.-built reactor plants based on the U.S. design.