“Pity,” replied Weiss with a disappointed tone. Jerry chuckled.
“Request permission to come up?” The voice sounded a little uncertain, but Weiss replied “Granted” and Daniel Cavanaugh clambered up. The bridge watch hadn’t been set yet, so there was space for Weiss, Jerry, and Cavanaugh, along with the enlisted phone talker.
“Not a lot of room up here,” Cavanaugh commented. He tried to find a corner that would give the others as much space as possible.
Weiss was responding to another report, so Jerry answered, “At sea, it’s just the OOD and a lookout in here, what we call the cockpit. The extras, like you and me, ride up on the flying bridge.” He gestured to a small platform with railings up behind the bridge. “But subs really don’t spend much time on the surface, usually just while leaving port and coming back in.”
“I wanted to watch us get underway, but that won’t be for a while, will it?”
“It will take about two hours to flood the dock and lift Jimmy off the blocks. That tug”—he pointed to a cluster of running lights in the river—“will actually tow us clear. That’s when it will be safe for the pumpjet to turn and she can move under her own power.”
Jerry was content to answer Cavanaugh’s questions, all very basic, about submarines while Carter’s captain oversaw the undocking. The civilian had questions about the UUVs, about submarine training, the inevitable question about how deep the sub could go, and how long they could stay submerged.
Lou Weiss chimed in occasionally, and the conversation even included a few sea stories, designed to edify and warn the civilian about the importance of staying on the crew’s good side. Submariners had tools, access to really sticky duct tape, and a wicked sense of humor. It passed the time, and Jerry felt the ice was beginning to thaw between him and Lou Weiss. He also learned a little more about their civilian guest — completely ignorant of submarine operations, but curious and intelligent.
They’d all been marking the water’s progress as it rose, slower than the minute hand of a clock, but steadily creeping up the sub’s flanks. “Right now our ballast tank vents are open, so it’s filling them as well as the dock,” Jerry explained. “When the water gets high enough, we’ll close the vents, and soon after that we’ll be afloat.”
Cavanaugh watched the tug approach and hook up a towline as Weiss communicated with it over the secure walkie-talkie. The water had risen high enough in the dock to cover the openings in the gate, eliminating the waterfall noise and leaving the tug’s diesels the loudest sound. Commodore Mitchell stood silently in his corner, watching the action, evaluating the performance of Carter’s CO and crew. Cavanaugh could understand some of the reports Captain Weiss received, but most were a complete mystery to him.
Weiss received yet another report and immediately ordered, “Close all main ballast tank vents.” Jerry leaned over and told Cavanaugh, “That’s our cue. We should go below now, to make room for the bridge crew.”
So the sub was close to actually moving. Things were just going to get more interesting. Hesitantly, the army engineer asked, “Can’t I stay topside?” like a kid wanting to watch the late, late movie.
Mitchell shrugged, and looked to Weiss, who nodded. “Just stay where you are for right now,” Carter’s captain ordered. Cavanaugh nodded happily.
Jerry disappeared down the hatch, to be replaced almost instantly by a lieutenant commander and two petty officers. One petty officer, wearing a harness, climbed up to the flying bridge and clipped a safety strap to a fitting behind him. It hadn’t occurred to Cavanaugh until that moment that once the sub began moving, the platform might not be all that steady.
The officer introduced himself. “I’m Tom Norris, the chief engineer. We met below. I’ll be the OOD — officer of the deck — once we’re underway.”
Cavanaugh felt the deck shift a little underneath them. It was so small it could have been dismissed as a vibration, but a second shift, and then a sliding movement followed it.
“And we’re off the blocks,” Norris announced. Pushing the intercom switch, he reported, “This is Mr. Norris. I have the deck and the conn.”
While the EB workers disconnected the auxiliary cooling water connection, two lines on the submarine’s bow came taut. The slack also disappeared from the mooring lines that held Carter in the center of the dock. Cavanaugh noticed that line handlers had appeared on the hull in front of and behind the sail.
There was still no sensation of movement, but rather one of not being part of the earth anymore. Eddies and currents pushed the hull in different directions, and while the lines kept the sub in one place, she was definitely ready to move.
The radio crackled again, and Weiss confirmed, “Understood, removing the gate.” That was clear enough, and Cavanaugh saw a crack at the end of the dock grow wider as the dock’s interior connected with the Thames River. He could see no sudden rush of water in either direction. The two levels were exactly the same. Just outside the dock was a tug’s stern, loitering smartly in place. Another line was expertly transferred from the submarine’s bow to the tug.
The radio crackled again. Weiss smiled broadly and clapped Norris on the shoulder. “And that’s it!” he announced happily. “Take us out, Eng.”
Norris accepted the secure radio from Weiss and told the phone talker, “On deck, take in all lines.” Carter’s captain disappeared below, followed by the phone talker, making more room, but Norris took it all in as he moved from side to side, watching the line handlers and the distance between Carter’s hull and the dock, now that she was free to move.
“Tug Paul, dead slow ahead,” Norris ordered, and the tug’s rumbling increased. Cavanaugh felt the gentlest of jerks as the towline went taut, and they were moving.
He had half a dozen question he wanted to ask, but knew better than to distract Norris. Even a gentle scrape on the sides of the dock could mean a delay of hours, but more likely days or possibly even weeks. Carter wasn’t going fast enough for her rudder to work, not yet, and was at the mercy of whatever currents the river sent them.
Norris’s head was on a swivel as he tried to judge not only Carter’s current position, but where she’d need to be in the next few minutes. The only good direction was straight ahead; anything else was trouble.
Cavanaugh marked their progress by watching the dock slide past. They were moving slightly faster than a walk. He spotted the floodlit opening ahead, and was encouraged, but Norris checked aft, and the civilian was reminded that three-quarters of the sub’s length was behind them.
Norris turned and spoke to him, the first time since he’d taken over. “The tricky part is coming up. The river’s current will hit us from the side, and the tug will have to compensate.”
Cavanaugh nodded his understanding, thinking to himself, now comes the tricky part?
Norris ordered, “Tug Paul, slow ahead,” and waited only a moment for the acknowledgement before resuming his bouncing back and forth motion in the cockpit.
Marking their progress along the dockside, it suddenly changed up from a fast walk to a jog, and the end of the dock seemed to fly past them. He turned to look aft, and knew Norris was doing the same thing on the other side of the sail. Cavanaugh heard Norris give a few orders to the tug, but they were always in a calm voice.