Cold is the Sea (33 page)

Once a day, however, she slowed to come to periscope and snorkel depth. Since
Manta
, an earlier submarine than the
Cushing
, had no apparatus for making oxygen from seawater, nor its complement, the carbon dioxide removal equipment, she routinely conserved her supply of compressed oxygen by periodically exchanging her internal air with the atmosphere. Usually this would be done in anticipation of a prolonged submergence, and thereafter every twenty-four hours whenever possible. After a full day, oxygen depletion was noticeable, and the instant restoration of vitality when the snorkel could finally be opened and fresh air drawn in became one of the pleasure points of the ship's routine. Other than the steady changes made in her great circle course, to bend it more and more toward the north, this was the only variety in her day-to-day existence.

After a few days, Richardson noticed that the same group of off-watch crew members seemed to be lounging around the control room during the periods of periscope depth, occasionally asking for a look at the sea and sky, volunteering to take a turn at periscope watch, generally contriving to make themselves useful. Both periscopes were kept up continuously during the hour or so it took for the routines associated with free air and low sea
pressure: charging air banks, expelling garbage, blowing sanitaries.

“We call it ‘periscope liberty,' ” said Buck. “It didn't happen during our day trips out of New London because we never stayed out long. But it goes on all the time when we're at sea like this, and it's the same gang. Not all of them always ask for a look every day, either. They listen to what's said by those who are on the 'scopes. They get some kind of a lift just being where someone can see out. We let as many as possible have a turn on the 'scopes, so long as there's nothing special going on.”

“Still tied to the surface, eh? Maybe you-all aren't a ‘new breed' of sailor after all.” Richardson and Williams were having a leisurely second cup of coffee in Buck's relatively spacious stateroom while the steward's mates were clearing away the wardroom after the evening meal. Rich had refused Buck's offer of his own cabin, had taken instead the top bunk in the executive officer's room. Even so, Rich had the uneasy feeling that some more strenuously employed younger officer had been evicted to make room for him. Besides, Jerry Abbott, the exec, had another roommate in addition to Richardson, and his cabin was about half the size of Buck's. Almost automatically, Rich had taken to spending some of his leisure in Buck's room while, at the same time, guiltily trying to avoid interference with Buck's own needs for it. Now, with the air in the ship recently renewed and the day's work and drills done, Buck was tilted back in his straight-back aluminum desk chair, while Rich sat on the bunk, propped up on the triangular plastic-covered pillow with which it was provided.

“That ‘new breed' stuff is all newspaper hokum, Skipper,” answered Buck, “and I know you think so too. It's not even relevant. There's no difference between submariners of today and sixteen years ago when we brought the
Eel
back from the war. We used to have the same kind of fellows wanting to come up to the bridge for a breath of fresh air every time the
Eel
surfaced, remember? It wasn't really the fresh air. With our ventilation system there was always plenty of fresh air when we were surfaced. In the enginerooms there was a darned cyclone. Fresh air was an excuse, and it's the same with our 'scope liberty.”

“I guess it's pretty normal,” said Rich. “They obviously can't go topside, so the control room is the next best. This certainly is a relaxed way to travel.” He was enjoying the desultory conversation.
There was no pressure on him. Buck and his crew were, of course, busy; but there was nothing Rich could do until
Manta
arrived in the area where
Cushing
lay disabled. One might as well enjoy the enforced ease, making sure only that all would be as ready as it could be when the big effort began.

Buck was taking a deep swallow from his cup, savoring it on the back of his tongue. “I've no doubt,” he said, “and that's one thing where we're far better off and at the same time less well off than in the old diesel boats. Look at the way we're making this transit. There's no pitching, no rolling, no concern for the weather, no worries about another ship running along without a proper lookout. Our own lookout is electronic, or sonic, which is the same thing. The old
Manta
's plugging along at full flat out, and you'd think we were sitting alongside the dock in harbor somewhere. Everything is so well organized there's no challenge. The wheels are spinning back aft and everyone goes on a watch in three, gets his three squares, sees a movie, turns in and gets up to go through it all again. I'm not saying we're idle, because there's always ship's work to do. In fact, nearly everybody works at least four hours in addition to his eight hours of watch. But it's always the same. Our variety is when we have a field day, or some drills for a couple of hours, or when we come to periscope depth to see if the world is still there. It affects different people differently. Being in the control room at the right time can become important to some of them.”

Richardson nodded, smiled as he finished his coffee, then sobered slightly. “We'll have variety once we get near the
Cushing
. There'll not be much complaining about boredom then. Speaking of drills, it seems to be you've sprung just about every kind of emergency there is on your boys. Are you planning any ship and fire control exercises?”

“Yes, sure. I thought we ought to get the emergencies smoothed out first.” Buck was suddenly on the defensive. “Why? We can have some tomorrow, if you want.”

“Anytime is fine with me. We can't practice the towing operation, but there's no telling what else we might run into up there.”

“You're not expecting any more collisions, hey?” Buck grinned. “If so, though, we'll give a good account of ourselves. During our overhaul last year a complete icebreaker superstructure
was built on this old bucket. It added tons of weight, and every bit of our reserve lead ballast had to be taken off. Our bow is like the ram bow of an old battleship, and so's our sail. EB swears we could cut our way up through ten feet of solid ice.”

“Sure, I know all about what EB did to your old tub. But how would you cut through ice that thick? Not by blowing tanks?”

“No. We might be able to break through four or five feet by blowing ballast and coming up flat,” said Buck as he tipped his cup back for the last delicious drops of hot black liquid. “For thicker ice we'd have to hit it from underneath with speed and a pretty steep angle so as to slice through with our bow. That's what the Electric Boat design shop says, anyhow.”

“Has the
Manta
done much steep-angle work?”

“Whenever there was a chance, or a good excuse. We all do, these days, ever since the first guppies showed what you could do with big angles. Besides, it's a great way to keep your crew on their toes, and it makes everybody keep loose gear stowed right. Come to think of it—I'd forgotten—you're the one who started the steep-angle dive business, back during the war. I remember how you used to make us dive the
Eel
at fifteen degrees, out there in the area. I can see why you're interested.”

“Fifteen degrees used to get us down a lot faster, all right, and once in a while we were mighty glad, but after the war some shippers went a lot steeper. The
Amberjack
used thirty degrees regularly, both up and down, and turned in reports about the tactical benefits. It got so people called them ‘
Anglejack
reports.” ' Richardson put his empty cup on the desk. “The
Pickerel
is supposed to have surfaced from deep submergence with a seventy-two-degree angle, once. She came half her length out of water.” His relaxed position on the bunk had not changed, but he was thinking of something. There was an air of greater attention about him, Buck noticed.

“I remember those reports,” said Buck. “I think I read every one. The
Amberjack
was one of our first guppies, and they claimed that with all the new speed and maneuverability the way to change depth in either direction was to use angles and get moving, the same way aircraft do. It's old hat, now. Did you hear they once put forty-two degrees on the
Triton
? It was last year. Some kind of a test Brighting wanted.”

“I heard about it in the Pentagon. Some of us thought it was a
bit much, especially with a ship that big, but it was a one-time thing, done very carefully. One thing it showed, though. If that monster can go to an angle that big, even for a special occasion, all the smaller boats should be able to. It's just a matter of training, and being accustomed to handling your boat that way.”

“Ship, boss. We're trying to inflate our importance a trifle.”

“Ship. Right. It's about time, especially for the nukes. I was just thinking about what we might be running into, and it struck me we ought to have steep angles in our bag of tricks,” Richardson said. There was seriousness in his words, and again Williams felt himself somehow on the defensive.

“Well, we've done a lot of it,” Williams said. “We're rigged for angles this very minute. It's part of our rig for sea. It's not something anyone makes special reports about anymore. But we sure haven't practiced breaking through any ten feet of ice cover with any seventy-two-degree angles, if that's what you're thinking of!”

Richardson was instantly contrite. “I didn't mean to sound critical, old man. I'm sorry. I was just being curious.” He waved his hand across his face in a gesture of friendly understanding. “Submarining has gone so far these days it's like a whole new science, with all new boats and equipment.”

“Ships. But I'll bet it didn't seem so on the new
Trigger
when she made that famous—or maybe I should say infamous—shakedown trip to Rio,” chuckled Buck, trying in his turn to ease the moment. “She was the first of the postwar boats to be completed, and her diesels were a fiasco. That wasn't all, either. Her evaporators were no good, and neither were her periscopes. Her skipper caught hell for saying so, too.”

“Later on, a couple of that class had to be towed back to port, one all the way from England, so he was sure right,” said Richardson. “The Navy made it up to him with the
Triton
.” He was gladly following Buck's lead, glad of a safe refuge—relaxed professional conversation—from the danger he had nearly fallen into. “You know,” he went on, “giving him the
Triton
was completely old Brighting's doing. Sometimes some of us have wondered if he wanted to prove a point and figured this might be a good way to do it. When the
Triton
's shakedown cruise took her completely around the world, submerged and nonstop,
without any serious mechanical trouble whatsoever, you had to admit he certainly did prove something. As far as I'm concerned, he proved that his ships were the best there could be, anywhere. You've got to say there could not possibly be a more demanding test of a brand-new ship!”

“Admiral Brighting sure is a strange one, boss. Do you remember that time in his quonset out in Idaho?”

“I was just thinking about it,” confessed Rich. “He may be a tyrant, but he certainly gets results. The tests and training he puts his people to, and the government contractors he deals with also, are so far beyond what everyone's been used to that they're like a new technology. The
Trigger
's shakedown compared with
Triton
's makes a good illustration. The
Triton
could have gone on another round-the-world cruise the next day, while they doggone near had to tow the
Trigger
back from Rio. It was a perfect example of the difference between lousy engineering by committee and the kind of good engineering Brighting does by himself.”

“He didn't add much to the conference in the
Proteus
the night before we got underway.”

“He couldn't. As he said, he's an engineer, not an operations type. But he did come up with the salient point about the Russian press release. They've lost an aircraft in the Arctic under strange circumstances. Strange enough for them to blame it on Keith. And Keith's second message said there were military aircraft searching in his vicinity. They must have been up there before he arrived. It all hangs together. Something big's going on.” Richardson's forehead had been creased in thought often since their departure, Buck had noticed. It was wrinkled now.

“There was one other thing Brighting did,” Buck said. “You know that piece of paper he handed me at the airport just before they took off? All covered with pencil notes and figures?” Williams was looking at Richardson in an odd way.

“Yes. Some new settings for your power plant, he said.”

“Yes. The reactor control officer's been going over them, and tonight he said he's ready to put them in. Know what they do?”

“No,” said Rich, his keen interest evident in the narrowed gaze he leveled on Buck. “But I was a bit curious when I heard Harry Langforth report to you.”

“Brighting's authorized a reduction in our thermal margin and increased the allowed temperature difference between the hot and cold legs of the primary loop. The rest of the figures are the new alarm points for the instrumentation.”

“He handed all this to you on a piece of paper?”