Around the World Submerged Read online

  Around the World Submerged

  Edward Latimer Beach

  When the nuclear-powered submarine USS Triton was commissioned in November 1959, its commanding officer, Captain Edward L. Beach, planned a routine shakedown cruise in the North Atlantic. Two weeks before the scheduled cruise, however, Beach was summoned to Washington and told of the immediate necessity to prove the reliability of the Rickover-conceived submarine. His new secret orders were to take the Triton around the world, entirely submerged the total distance.

  This is Beach’s gripping firsthand account of what went on during the 36,000 nautical-mile voyage whose record for speed and endurance still stands today. It brings to life the many tense events in the historic journey: the malfunction of the essential fathometer that indicated the location of undersea mountains and shallow waters, the sudden agonizing illness of a senior petty officer, and the serious problems with the ship’s main hydraulic oil system.

  Intensely dramatic, Beach’s chronicle also describes the psychological stresses of the journey and some touching moments shared by the crew. A skillful story teller, he recounts the experience in such detail that readers feel they have been along for the ride of a lifetime.

  Edward L. Beach

  AROUND THE WORLD SUBMERGED

  The Voyage of the Triton

  Acknowledgments

  The man whose inspiration, genius, and perseverance created the power plant without which Triton’s voyage could not have been conceived has never been categorized as easy to deal with, nor is his high resolve entirely without problems for himself and others. But his single-minded determination, his idealism, his relentless insistence upon the right, and his love for the United States of America distinguish him as one of the great men of our time.

  To Vice-Admiral H. G. Rickover, United States Navy, who made Triton possible, and without whom the fantastic power of the nuclear reaction would still, in my opinion, be harnessed only for atomic explosives, this book, without his permission, is very respectfully dedicated.

  IN GRATEFUL ACKNOWLEDGMENT

  Ship’s Company During Submerged Circumnavigation

  OFFICERS

  LCDR Will Mont Adams, Jr., Executive Officer

  CDR James Ellis Stark, MC, Medical Officer

  LCDR Robert Dean Fisher, SC, Supply Officer

  LCDR Robert William Bulmer, Operations Officer

  LT Donald Gene Fears, Engineer Officer

  LT Robert Brodie III, Communications Officer

  LT Robert Patrick McDonald, Reactor Control Officer

  LT Tom Brobeck Thamm, Auxiliary Division Officer

  LT George John Troffer, Electrical Officer

  LT Curtis Barnett Shellman, Jr., Machinery Division Officer

  LT George Albert Sawyer, Jr., Gunnery Officer

  LT Richard Adams Harris, CIC/ECM Officer

  LT Milton Robert Rubb, Electronics Officer

  LT James Cahill Hay, Assistant A Division

  MACH Phillip Brown Kinnie, Jr., Assistant M Division

  CHIEF PETTY OFFICERS

  Chester Raymond Fitzjarrald, TMC Chief of the Ship

  Alfred E. Abel, ENCA

  Hugh M. Bennett, Jr., ICC

  Joseph H. Blair, Jr., EMCA

  James J. DeGange, EMCA

  John F. Faerber, ENCA

  Loyd [sic] L. Garlock, FTC

  William L. Green, SDCA

  Harry W. Hampson, ETCA

  Herbert F. Hardman, EMCS

  William R. Hadley, CTC

  Clarence M. Hathaway, Jr., ENCA

  Robert L. Jordan, ICC

  Jack R. Judd, ETCS

  Ralph A. Kennedy, ENCA

  James T. Lightner, ENCA

  Lynn S. Loveland, MMCA

  William J. Marshall, QMC

  George W. McDaniel, SOCA

  Walter H. O’Dell, EMCA

  Mack Parker, EMCA

  Richard N. Peterson, ICCA

  Bernard E. Pile, RDCS

  “L” “E” [sic] Poe, EMC

  John R. Poole, RDCA[1]

  Edwin C. Rauch, ENCS

  Joseph Rosenblum, EMCS

  Fred Rotgers, ENC

  Frank W. Snyder, ENC

  Joseph W. Walker, YNC

  Joseph E. Walsh, RMC

  Hosie Washington, ENCA

  Roy J. Williams, Jr., HMC

  Marion A. Windell, RMCA

  ENLISTED

  Walter J. Allen, ET1

  Ronald Everett Almeida, RM2

  Edward G. Arsenault, RM2

  Erland N. Alto, EN1

  Ramon D. Baney, CS2

  Robert F. Barrila, EN3

  Horace H. Bates, EN2

  Curtis K. Beacham, QM1

  Lawrence W. Beckhaus, SO1

  James C. Bennett, RM2

  Nathan L. Blaede, ET1

  George M. Bloomingdale, EM1

  David E. Boe, SN

  John S. Boreczky, Jr., EN3

  Robert U. Boylan, ETNSN

  Richard L. Brown, EM1

  Earl E. Bruch, Jr., CS2

  Franklin D. Caldwell, EMFN

  Edward C. Carbullido, SD2

  Robert M. Carolus, EN1

  Robert C. Carter, MM1

  Leslie R. Chamberlin, Jr., CS3

  Gerald J. Clark, RD3

  Charles E. Cleveland, EM1

  Colvin R. Cochrane, MM1

  Raymond J. Comeau, Jr., EM2

  William E. Constantine, FT1

  William J. Crow, CS1

  Bertram Cutillo, DK3

  Raymond R. Davis, EN1

  James Obie Dixon, Jr., YN2

  Martin F. Docker, ET1

  Gary L. Dowrey, SOSSN

  Ralph F. Droster, EN2

  Alan T. Ferdinandsen, IC3

  Richard R. Fickel, HM1

  James A. Flaherty, RM1

  Joseph R. Flasco, EN1

  Fred J. Foerster, FN

  René C. Freeze, RD1

  Gerald W. Gallagher, IC1

  Bruce F. Gaudet, IC3

  Adrian D. Gladd, HM1

  Edward R. Hadley, EN3

  Carl C. Hall, QM3

  Lawrence C. Hankins, Jr., EN1

  Carlus G. Harris, EN2

  Ralph W. Harris, EN2

  David L. Hartman, EN2

  Gene R. Hoke, IC1

  William C. Holly, RD2

  Floyd W. Honeysette, QM2

  Berten J. Huselton, IC1

  Wilmot A. Jones, TM2

  Edward K. Kammer, EM1

  Fred Kenst, SN

  Ronald D. Kettlehake, EMFN

  Peter P. J. Kollar, GM1

  Richard R. Knorr, ENFN

  John F. Kuester, CS3

  Raymond R. Kuhn, Jr., FN

  Leonard F. Lehman, EM1

  Larry N. Mace, EM1

  Ross S. MacGregor, FT2

  Edward J. Madden, EN2

  Anton F. Madsen, QM3

  Robert M. Maerkel, FN

  Harry A. Marenbach, MM1

  Harold J. Marley, Jr., RM1

  Arlan F. Martin, EN3

  George W. Mather, ET1

  Boyd L. McCombs, EN1

  Douglas G. McIntyre, EN1

  William A. McKamey, SN

  “J” “C” [sic] Meaders, HM1

  Charles F. Medrow II, ETN3

  Roger A. Miller, QM3

  Philip P. Mortimer, Jr., EN2

  John Moulton, FA

  Larry E. Musselman, MM1

  Bruce H. Nelson, FN

  Ronald D. Nelson, EN1

  Rudolf P. Neustadter, IC3

  Raymond J. O’Brien, SK1

  Harry Olsen, EN2

  Charles S. Pawlowicz, ETRSN

  Charles P. Peace, ET2

  Robert C. Perkins, Jr., RM2

 
Richard H. Phenicie, IC3

  Russell F. Pion, ET1

  George V. Putnam, TM2

  Donald R. Quick, EN1

  Kenneth J. Remillard, SO1

  Max L. Rose, SN

  Richard M. Rowlands, TM1

  Jerry D. Saunders, RD2

  Russell K. Savage, QM2

  Paul K. Schulze, EN1

  Thomas J. Schwartz, TM3

  Stanley L. Sieveking, TM1

  Donald P. Singleton, EN3

  Gordon E. Simpson, ET1

  James H. Smith, Jr., SN

  Peter F. Springer, EN1

  Allen W. Steele, TM3

  Richard W. Steeley, EN3

  James A. Steinbauer, EN3

  Gerald Royden Stott, ET1

  Leonard H. Strang, EN3

  Robert R. Tambling, TM1

  Joseph W. Tilenda, SN

  Jessie L. Vail, EM1

  James O. Ward, SD3

  William R. Welch, MM1

  Henry H. Weygant, EN1

  Robert W. Whitehouse, EN1

  Lamar “C” Williams, EN2

  William Williams, EN1

  Audley R. Wilson, RD1

  Donald R. Wilson, SD3

  John W. Wouldridge, RM1

  Gordon W. Yetter, EN1

  Raymond F. Young, YNSN

  Robert C. Zane, YN2

  Herbert J. Zeller, EM1

  Ernest O. Zimmerman, RD2

  TECHNICAL AND SCIENTIFIC PERSONNEL

  CDR Joseph B. Roberts, USNR, Office of Information, Navy Department

  Earnest R. Meadows, PH1

  Dr. Benjamin B. Weybrew, Psychologist, Naval Medical Research Laboratory, Submarine Base, New London

  Mr. Michael Smalet, Geophysicist, USN Hydrographic Office

  Mr. Gordon E. Wilkes, Civil Engineer, USN Hydrographic Office

  Mr. Nicholas R. Mabry, Oceanographer, USN Hydrographic Office

  Mr. Frank E. McConnell, Engineer, General Dynamics

  Mr. Eldon E. Good, Inertial Guidance Division, Sperry

  In the account of Triton’s voyage which follows, I have drawn freely upon the narrative section of the official report of our trip. When assembled, this report formed a tome about three inches thick. It contained many detailed tabulations and much succinctly presented raw information, and all the officers of the ship participated in its preparation. My contribution was the narrative section, which was made public when we arrived back in the United States.

  Here, interspersed between the sections of the “Log” and forming the major portion of this book, are my own personal thoughts and observations as later reconstituted at my typewriter at home after all the excitement had died down.

  All portions of this manuscript have been submitted to the Navy Department for clearance, and each chapter bears the stamp “no objection to publication on grounds of military security.” Over and above this, the entire responsibility for everything which appears in these pages obviously must be my own.

  —Edward L. Beach

  Captain, United States Navy

  Mystic, Connecticut

  PROLOGUE

  As a small boy, I had the good fortune of being a Navy Junior while living a settled life in a small community, without the frenetic shifts of locale inherent in a Service life. My father, as a Captain, after a long and rewarding career in the Navy, retired when I was four years old to accept the post of Professor of Military and Naval History at Stanford University. He had served the Navy thirty-seven-and-a-half years, and his sea duty had culminated with command of the American flagship in the European war zone during World War I.

  During the course of his career, Dad had written thirteen books about naval life, most of them for teen-aged youths, plus several others aimed at a more mature audience. He had made a lifetime avocation of the study of history, with a natural inclination, of course, toward naval history; he had fought in three minor and two major wars (and was fond of saying that the minor ones were far more dangerous, so far as he personally was concerned, than the major). He had commanded one repair ship, two armored cruisers, and two battleships; I was born while he skippered the new “superdreadnaught” New York, in 1918.

  My formative youth was spent in Palo Alto, California, where, after his years as a professor at Stanford, Father held the combined posts of City Clerk and Assessor. Among my childhood recollections were the stories Father used to tell about his experiences in the Philippines during and after the Spanish-American War, at the Naval Academy as a midshipman and later as an instructor, and particularly about that dreadful day in 1916 when his ship, the armored cruiser Memphis, was engulfed and destroyed by a tidal wave. The latter was my favorite yarn, and I never wearied of forcing my poor father to repeat all the details of the catastrophe which had blighted his career.

  Father said that I would do well to study medicine, but I felt his heart wasn’t in it. My only thoughts were of going to the Naval Academy and becoming, like him, an officer in the US Navy.

  The long-sought fulfillment of my ambitions came in 1935. So great was my anticipation I couldn’t understand why Mother was crying when my parents took me to the train station, nor the meaning behind Father’s faraway look. I was then just seventeen years old.

  Four years at the Naval Academy had more ups than downs and were most satisfying, but when I graduated on the first of June, 1939, it was with the sad knowledge that Father was slipping away from me. His long and interesting letters had become increasingly difficult to read. The thoughts in them of late had begun to wander, and I noticed that more and more he relived the past, particularly the loss of his old Memphis and the crew members he had had to watch drown.

  Father used to say that the place for a young officer was in a big ship; so upon graduation from Annapolis, I applied for the ten thousand ton cruiser Chester. I had been aboard about two months when the war in Europe broke out. Because of a surname beginning early in the alphabet I found myself transferred to the Lea, destroyer number 118.

  The Lea was tiny, one-tenth the displacement of the Chester, and she had been “permanently” retired to mothballs some years before. The brass plate on her varnished wooden mast revealed her age as being the same as my own. There were only five officers in the Lea, and I was the most junior. Later on, when the “Third” was transferred, I automatically rose to the high eminence of Fourth, but this, under the circumstances, had little effect on my unofficial title of “George.”

  “George,” the traditional name of the most junior officer on board, always served as the ship’s commissary officer, communications officer, ship’s service officer, torpedo officer, gunnery officer, and first lieutenant. In addition, I had to insert a three-year stack of corrections into the ship’s allotment of classified books and pamphlets—a horrendous job—was in charge of the landing party (luckily it seldom got an opportunity to go ashore), stood two four-hour watches a day on the bridge while under way, and while in port stood a twenty-four-hour “day’s duty” every third day (except for a short period when I had the duty every other day).

  There was also a Destroyer Officers Qualification Course of some twenty lengthy assignments, which I was required to complete within a year’s time; and the Bureau of Navigation, evidently afraid that Ensigns might neglect their leisure time reading, had decided that we should submit a two thousand word book report each month.

  The ship also had a skipper, an engineer, and an executive officer, but I never had time to discover what any of them did.

  After two years on the Lea, in September, 1941, a message arrived directing me to submarine school in New London for instruction in submarine duty. By this time, I loved that slender four-stacked race horse of a destroyer, and didn’t want to leave; but my skipper, an old submariner himself, would not send the protest I drafted, so off I went.

  The course of instruction at the submarine school, originally six months long, had been curtailed to three by the war emergency, and on December 20, 1941,1 was one of fifty-one graduates who heard the officer in char
ge of the school deliver a graduation address. In the course of it he said, “Many of you will command your own ships before this war is over.”

  None of us believed we could achieve such greatness, but a little later we all noted the other side of the coin, when the first of our group went to eternity in the shattered submarine to which he had reported only a couple of weeks before.

  My first submarine was USS Trigger (SS237), then under construction at the Navy Yard, Mare Island, California. During my two years on the Lea, I had finally bequeathed the “George” spot to someone else, but in the Trigger I found myself with that familiar title again. As before, I was greeted by a huge stack of uncorrected confidential and secret publications. The similarity, however, ended here; for Trigger, a first-line ship of war, was designed to operate in an entirely new and unfamiliar medium. The amount of highly technical equipment crammed into her sturdy hull amazed me.

  I reported to Trigger on New Year’s Day, 1942, but it wasn’t until May that we arrived at Pearl Harbor. No one in Trigger had ever heard a shot fired in anger. We were all new, green as grass—even the skipper. A feeling of trepidation crept over us as we approached our recently desecrated Pacific bastion.

  A short leave during an overhaul period in mid-1943 had great personal significance. I saw Father for the last time, I met Ingrid Schenck, and when I returned to Trigger I became second-in-command.

  When I was detached, a year later, Dad had been gone six months and Trigger, now top-ranking submarine in the force, had less than a year to live. With orders to report to Portsmouth, New Hampshire, as Executive Officer of the not-yet-launched submarine Tirante, I used authorized delay time to take a ten-day honeymoon with the girl I had courted during three hectic weeks of leave the year before.

  Tirante was a very successful submarine, earning Lieutenant Commander George L. Street, her skipper, a Congressional Medal of Honor. In June of 1945, the prediction of three and one half years was fulfilled when I was given command of my own ship, the Piper. The war, however, was drawing to a close. I strove mightily to get Piper into action, but the bombs of Hiroshima and Nagasaki got there first. Instead of killing and destroying, we rescued six bombed or torpedoed Japanese (we could never determine what had sunk their ship) from the middle of the Sea of Japan, and I have since felt grateful, after all the depth charges and torpedoes, that this, instead of destruction of my fellow man, is my last memory of the war.