With Buck’s nod of comprehension, he went on. “I don’t think there’s anything more to be gained by looking over the rest of Cushing’s underwater body, but we ought to have as good an idea as we can of how the situation is back there. Especially whether Keith can steer or not. Towing him will be a lot harder if he can’t. While you’re maneuvering around, I’ll get on the underwater telephone with Keith and tell him what we’re up to, and ask him to try to operate the rudder while we’re watching. Stern planes too, although that looks pretty hopeless.”
“Keith,” Rich said a few moments later into the Gertrude mouthpiece, “we’re dead astern of you. How do you read?”
“A little mushy, but clear enough, Rich. How does it look?”
“Not good. Several big dents, your port stern plane is folded up against the side and the rudder is bent. The propeller is useless, I’m afraid. We’re closing in for another look at your stern. Can you operate your rudder?”
“Affirmative. It moves slowly and we can’t go as far right as we used to, but I think it’s usable.”
“Good! That’s very good news. How about the stern planes?”
“We have a little travel in them before they bind, but not much. We can go from five degrees rise to three down.”
“Good,” said Rich again. “When we get into position I’ll ask you to operate the rudder and stern planes and maybe the propeller shaft. Can you do that?”
“Affirm. We know the shaft’s bent out of line. Max rpm is about twenty.”
“Roger. Back soon.”
“Roger.”
“Well, what do you think, Buck?” Rich and Buck were again at their periscopes, with Manta now balancing at a slightly shallower depth than before, directly astern of the Cushing so that the tips of her extended periscopes appeared to be only a few feet away from the mangled propeller of the disabled submarine.
“Nothing anyone can do for that eggbeater out there, but maybe they can work the rudder and planes.”
“That’s what I think, too. Have Jerry ask them to work the rudder.”
“Wilco,” said the Gertrude set, and the rudder began to move.
“Nothing much wrong with that,” said Richardson with satisfaction. “At least Keith can steer! Now tell them to secure the rudder and go to the stern planes.”
Through the periscopes, both men saw the halting, painful movement of the horizontal control surfaces. “Tell him to secure that. The port plane is striking the hull, and that’s the most he’s ever going to be able to move it.”
They waited as Abbott transmitted the message and the movement ceased.
“Now tell him to try the propeller, building up slowly to whatever speed he wants.” The crumpled mass of bronze, once a beautifully curved, delicately balanced example of shipbuilding art, slowly began to rotate, and in the process its center could be seen describing an arc inches in diameter. “Tell him to stop!” said Rich. A moment later, speaking on the UQC himself, he said, “Keith, your propeller shaft is bent at least six inches out of line. I could see it making a foot-diameter circle as it went around.”
“I understand,” said Keith, after the barest suggestion of a delay.
“We’re going to get clear now and prepare for towing. We’d like you to drop down to one hundred fifty feet and hover there. Lower your anchor to the fifty-fathom mark and set your brake, but not too tight. We want it to slip a little as we take you in tow to help ease the initial shock. Be ready to tighten the brake as the pull begins, and secure it with everything you’ve got as it approaches the eighty-fathom mark.”
“Wilco,” said Keith.
“Let us know when you’re ready.”
“Wilco,” said Keith again.
To Buck, Rich said, “The only difference between what we’re having Keith do and what the Besugo did is that she had to rig her anchor from the forecastle before submerging and therefore had to set the brake tight at the beginning. This may help make up for the Cushing being three times as big.”
“Roger,” said Buck, looking steadily at his superior. Both of them knew the exchange was entirely for the benefit of their crew, for the procedure had been discussed in private many times.
“His anchor will be at four hundred fifty feet. We’ll make our depth five hundred, so there’ll be no chance of hitting it.”
“Roger, Commodore. When do you want to go to towing stations?”
“Whenever you’re ready, Buck. Which side do you want to use?”
“Makes no difference. Port side.”
“Very well.”
The stilted, official conversation was necessary for one reason only: Richardson and Williams had decided to make the real thing as nearly like the drills as possible. Chances of error would thereby be lessened, and crew confidence increased. Now Buck picked up the hand microphone for the ship’s general announcing system, spoke into it. “All hands,” he said, “rig ship for towing. Port side.” He hung the mike back in its bracket, turned away, then turned back and picked it up again. “This is the captain,” he said. “This time it’s for real.”
The only change Richardson saw in personnel stations was the arrival of the ship’s best helmsman, and separation of the wheel and annunciator controls from the bow planesman’s station to which, in the cruising condition, they had been cross-connected. Doubtless there was not a person on board for whom Buck’s final admonition was needed. Nevertheless, Rich was instantly aware of its effect. He himself felt like cheering.
Manta had departed from New London with her two sets of towing gear stored in the after torpedo tubes. The inner doors of both tubes had already been replaced by anchor billets. Getting ready to tow involved only opening the outer door of the designated tube, number eight, and ejecting the contents, a metal canister filling the entire tube, by a short jet of high-pressure air through a fitting on the anchor billet. The canister, merely a large galvanized iron can, slid out, split open and sank, releasing the paravane. This immediately began to rise toward the surface, carrying with it a short section of heavy chain on the near end of which was a large steel hook. The other end of the chain terminated in a swivel, from which extended a long length of beautiful white nylon hawser, now being dragged outward and upward from the open tube. The inboard end of the hawser also held a swivel, followed by another section of chain which entered the open torpedo tube door and was firmly attached to the anchor billet.
Several refinements had been added to the original device during the course of testing it: strain gauges had been the first; a large bolt in the billet, when unscrewed, now allowed the chain and hawser to drop clear, thus permitting the outer door to be shut and the tube to be restored to its original use. Most recently, the hook had been modified to slide easily down the anchor chain of the ship to be towed until it fetched up on her anchor, where it would snag fast, and an additional UQC had been installed on Manta’s stern to facilitate communication abaft the propellers. Just before departure, the hooks for both devices had been checked by actually testing them with a chain and anchor identical to the Cushing’s, intended for an identical submarine still under construction.
While the football-shaped paravane was deploying upward and to port, where its vanes kited it, Buck was maneuvering the Manta into position two miles astern of the Cushing, waiting for the ready signal from her. It came in half an hour, about when expected, and Buck set the course. As before, the TDC and sonar were used to establish the proper relationship to the Cushing, so that Manta would pass parallel to, but not directly beneath, the disabled missile submarine. Calculations and drill both had showed that at three knots the paravane streamed, as planned, about one hundred feet above and fifty yards off to the side of the towing submarine. Manta was programmed to pass fifty feet below and one hundred feet abeam of Cushing’s anchor, so that her diagonally dragged hawser could not fail to intersect the vertically hanging anchor chain of her quarry.