Free Three Knots to Nowhere by Ted E. Dubay Page A

was open. I could see the three large black shore power cables. They attached to connections in the escape trunk. The forward port corner held the lithium-bromide air conditioning unit and the 8,000-gallon-per-day distillation unit. The still processed seawater and made the Clay ’s fresh water. Engineering plant operating water usage had the highest priority. Personal showers were lowest on the list.
    After what seemed to be an eternity, we walked a few feet aft. We were finally at maneuvering. I felt like a kid at Christmas, busting at the seams to open presents. I was about to get my first exposure to the control room of the USS Henry Clay ’s S5W nuclear plant, the fifth generation of Westinghouse’s submarine design. Although I suppressed any outward signs, I could feel the excitement surging through me like an electric current.
    Submarine school had briefly covered the S5W control room. I learned the Clay ’s power plant was worlds apart from S1C, where I received my initial nuclear practical training.
    As I peered into the enclosure, I saw a dungaree-clad individual standing and facing the middle control panel. He was intently scanning the dials and recording readings.
    After putting his clipboard down, he turned in our direction. He had “Horne” stenciled above his dungaree shirt pocket. Davis explained I was a baby nuc electrician fresh out of school, another non-qual puke he would have to lead by the hand for a while. Then he introduced us. Horne reached over the chain, shook my hand, and told me I could call him Jim. Davis remarked that they called him Horney Toad or just Toad.
    Then Davis told Horne to check my profile and said, “We should call him Eaglebeak.”
    I tried not to show any reaction to the comment. My face felt warm and I was sure a blush was providing evidence of my embarrassment. Neither appeared to notice, or they were showing kindness by not rubbing it in.
    Horne mentioned needing to use the head. He suggested Davis relieve him. It would kill two birds with one stone. Horne would get his needed break and Davis could familiarize me with maneuvering.
    Davis agreed.
    I unhooked the chain across maneuvering’s doorway. Davis and I entered.
    Horne provided the typical SMAW turnover report, “Air in the banks. Shit in the tanks. Two-slow/two-slow. Rods on the bottom.”
    After Horne left, Davis filled me in on the protocol for entering maneuvering. Everybody must request permission. It didn’t matter who you were, your rank or status. The only exceptions were the captain, executive officer, engineer, and the engineering officer of the watch (EOOW). They had blanket permission.
    Maneuvering was markedly cooler than the engine room. Davis related how engineering roving watch standers occasionally stood in the doorway for a respite from the engine room’s oppressive environment. I could only imagine the difference when there was steam in the engine room.
    While Davis reviewed the logs and indications, I familiarized myself with maneuvering.
    I estimated that maneuvering was ten feet deep, from the doorway to its terminus at the submarine’s curved hull. It was about six feet wide. Control and monitoring panels occupied most of the area. There were three main consoles, which filled the entire forward edge of maneuvering. Each had a sloped bench section, a vertical portion, and another aft-sloped upper section. The steam plant control panel was on the inboard end, by the doorway. The reactor plant control panel was in the middle, and the electric plant control panel was outermost. Directly aft of the reactor plant control panel and electric plant control panel were elevated chairs that swiveled and allowed watch standers to operate their controls without standing.
    I was standing in an open space by the doorway facing forward. In front of me was the steam plant control panel. To my rear was a footlocker with a cushion on top of it.
    An electrician’s