Upon reaching the beach, they discovered the pounding surf had severed telephone lines and communications with the Pitstop. The heavy seas also prevented reaching the facility by small boat.
“Damn!” Eric cursed and for the first time seeming to vent wrath upon his old friend, “Didn’t anyone consider a simple walkie-talkie backup radio?”
Dave made no reply.
Eric continued, “I’ve got a wounded birdman in charge out there who’s never commanded anything bigger than a ten-foot rowboat … and I can’t even talk to him.”
“He’s got seamen out there with him, Eric. Gerry knows how to get the right advice. Count on him.”
“What other choice do I have?”
Despite the breakwater, waves broke over the barges and soaked Navy men and civilians working side by side, in what appeared a losing fight to save the Pitstop. Both reserve anchors had been dropped at the anticipated pressure points. But they’d see no strain until the next anchor chain parted so the domino effect continued. The problem could be delayed but not resolved.
One of the two available tugboats had a towrope wrapped about its propeller and couldn’t move. Even both tugs working in tandem would not provide sufficient power to hold the barges in place.
Gerry Carter asked of Jim Buchanan, Phil Reynolds and Dutch Meyer, “Okay experts, what the hell do we do now?”
The inventive Jim Buchanan had no suggestions. “We shoulda used the tug to drag the anchors out till the chains strained before we dropped them.”
With growing impatience in his voice, Gerry said, “Shouldas don’t help. Where does this leave us?”
Nothing came forth from the three submariners.
Time was running out so Gerry scrambled for a solution. “Phil,” he asked, “that … what did you call that thing on Newport … the outboard?”
“Secondary propulsion system.”
Gerry’s irritation began to show. “Yeah. Well whatever the hell it is, can it move your ship against this wind?”
Phil answered, “Yes, sir, it can. But it can’t hold something the size of this base against the storm.”
The confidence in Gerry’s voice did not reflect his true feelings. “It won’t have to. That sewer pipe of yours is gonna perform its most important job since they built it. It’s about to become a thirty-six hundred ton anchor.”
Puzzled, Phil asked, “What are you talking about?”
“This. Make up all the bitter ends of the broken anchor chains to the Newport. Fire up your outboard and haul them into the wind till they’re as taut as you can get them. Then submerge and sit on the bottom.”
The idea struck Reynolds like a kick in the solar plexus. Less than two weeks ago, he had ended a miserable six-week stint on the bottom of Puget Sound and had no wish to enact another similar demand upon his crew.
Phil snapped back, “I want to discuss this with the commodore first.”
“You just did,” Gerry said. “Captain Danis is not here and that makes me the commodore. Get moving or in another thirty minutes this base and that goddamn derelict of yours is gonna be scrap iron on those rocks over there.”
Grateful that darkness hid the grin on his face, Jim thought, Damn! These aviators are made of the right stuff. He placed a hand on the shoulder of the stammering submarine commander. “Come on, Phil. Let’s get moving.”
Making up the anchor chains to Newport sapped the remaining stamina of the men struggling to save the Pitstop. The job finished, Commander Reynolds ordered the mooring lines slipped to save time when normally, they would have been taken in and stowed. Newport moved slowly into the teeth of the storm. The nest of barges, a scant hundred and fifty yards from the rocks and bearing down on them, the final anchor chain snapped, quickly finishing the job of tightening the anchor chains to Newport. Buchanan and Reynolds stood on Newport’s bridge and immediately recognized the situation.
Buchanan shouted above the storm, “Okay, Phil, let’s do it!”
Reynolds pulled the diving alarm and the two dropped below decks and secured the bridge access hatch. Popping ballast tank vents roared above the wind and Newport settled to the bottom. Momentary banging and grinding rumbled through the hull as the monstrous submarine rolled ten degrees in the direction of the storm then held.
Ordering the number one periscope raised, Reynolds scanned the Pitstop then yelled out, “Yahoo! She’s holding.”
Back on the Pitstop, Dutch Meyer took Gerry Carter’s hand and gave it a hearty shake. “Congratulations, Gerry. We got an even strain on all the chains. We’re home free.”
The fatigued aviator turned submarine squadron Chief Staff Officer gasped, “Damn! You guys really do earn your submarine pay. But seriously, Dutch, what the hell will I tell Danis when he gets back and finds Newport on the bottom?”
Dutch had a witty comeback for everything. “All you need to say is ‘Good morning, sir. How do you like having the most expensive anchor ever built?’ Danis will like that. Being first is important to him.”
Dutch Meyer and Jim Buchanan had earlier discussed a test plan to demonstrate their new concept: detect an intruder with the sonar array, attack it with a Sealance missile launched from the seabed and finish the job by vectoring S3A aircraft over the damaged target to drop MK 46 Torpedoes. They would move quickly, but carefully, one step at a time and today focused on getting a missile onto a simulated target noise source.
Meyer would take one of his improvised cable layers to sea and suspend a noise source in the vicinity of the hydrophones planted to monitor the sea approaches to the Pitstop. He’d then record his position using the Loran-C.
Jim Buchanan remained ashore to monitor hydrophones from the blockhouse, a hastily constructed cover for the acoustic recorders and weapon control panels.
He exclaimed to the hydrophone operator, a sonarman borrowed from Newport. “There it is!”
The operator said, “Got it, sir.” The youngster read off target coordinates and Jim recorded them.
As the numbers appeared at the precise position where Dutch had been dispatched, Jim thought, Good. He then had the operator double-check the reading. “Doesn’t look right, sailor,” he fibbed, “Try it again. Reset the display.”
The second reading identical to the first one assured Jim the array could pinpoint a noise source. Now they had to demonstrate a Sealance payload could be dropped on the target vicinity.
Jim activated one of the four missiles atop the sunken barge many miles at sea. The guidance system responded. He then set in the target coordinates and had a fire control technician; also commandeered from Newport, verify them.
After validating the numbers, both on a scratch pad where he had written them and on the array display itself, Jim said, “Checks.” He then ordered the fire control technician, “Verify presets.”
The youngster replied, “Read-backs correct, sir.”
“Give me the numbers. I want to be sure.”
The operator re-verified them.
Jim ordered, “Fire one!”
The operator depressed the firing key. A Missile Away light came on in response to the preset wire being broken when the missile floated free from the barge and began its buoyant ascent toward the ocean surface.