This Is Not a Drill
Once upon a time, I was a hotshot Electrical Operator on a nuclear submarine. I stood watches in the Maneuvering Room, which was the control station in the Engine Room. I was in charge of the Ship's Service Turbine Generators, the AC-DC Motor Generators, and the Main Battery. I controlled the ship's electrical plant, and all the connections that could be made to make and send electrical power throughout the sub.
I recall being asked, in a job interview, what was the worst fuck-up I'd ever made. I replied, without hesitation, the time during engineering drills, when I tripped off the wrong SSTG. The drill supervisor announced that the steam supply to the port SSTG was shut off, and I should have opened the output breaker to the port SSTG and shifted all loads to the starboard SSTG. But for some reason, I opened the starboard SSTG output breaker. All the lights went out, and the MGs shifted from AC-driven to DC-driven, and the lights went back on. I had to bring the starboard SSTG back on line, shift the MGs back to DC-driven, so they could resume keeping the battery charged, bring the port SSTG back on line, parallel it to the AC bus, and balance the ship's electrical loads between port and starboard SSTGs.
The whole evolution took less than a minute, and while I was totally humiliated by my fuck up, I was actually praised by the drill supervisor for my prompt restoration of the ship's normal electrical lineup. One of the consequences of my fuck-up was that I became the duty Electrical Operator for General Quarters.
This meant that when the alarm sounded, I was either relieved from my Aux Electrician Aft duties, or woken up from my off-watch down time in my bunk, or otherwise ended up relieving the EO for the duration of the drill or emergency.
Sometimes the drills were "Battle Stations Missile". When the gong sounded and the announcement was made, they sometimes announced "This is a drill". Sometimes the drill originated from headquarters, and sometimes they would announce "This is a drill", and sometimes they would announce "This is not a drill". The pucker factor was amped up, when they announced "This is not a drill".
We knew, from previous experience, that drills could be originated from Pearl Harbor, or wherever, and it wouldn't be made known to us that it was a drill until after the missiles were spun up and ready to launch. And we always hoped and prayed that it was yet another drill.
But we also knew, from previous experience, that "This is not a drill" really meant that we were no-shit taking on water, or no-shit at risk of imminent collision, or no-shit there was fire. We could hear the yelling, hear the water spraying, hear the screws overhead, or smell the smoke, so we were trained that "This is not a drill" means "This is no-shit, the real thing".
Everyone on board would report to their assigned watch stations, and the ship would go through the evolution of preparing the ship's ballistic missiles for launch. The Steam Plant Operator had his station on the inboard panel of Maneuvering, the Reactor Operator on the center panel, and the Electrical Operator on the outboard panel. The Engineering Officer of the Watch sat on a stool behind the three operators. During Battle Stations Missile, the Engineering Officer joined the EOOW and three Operators in Maneuvering. He wore a .45 pistol on a belt. His job was to shoot anyone who thought they might sabotage a launch.
I remember the Cuban Missile Crisis. I was just a kid, but I remember how afraid my parents and my teachers were. I remember 'duck and cover' drills, and we would all scramble underneath our school desks. I remember glancing out the windows that looked over the Pacific Ocean as I ducked, knowing that we were located between San Diego Harbor to the south and Camp Pendleton to the north, and wondering if my desk would really save me.
This was the era of Mutually Assured Destruction, which really was a mad way to run the world. But this was the world I grew up in.
It wasn't unusual during normal underway ops for roaming watchstanders to gather at the hatches between compartments to shoot the shit. You'd have Missile Technicians and Fire Control Technicians from the Weapons Department gabbing with Machinists Mates and Electricians Mates and Electronics Technicians from the Engineering Department at the door between the Missile Compartment and Auxiliary Machinery Room 1. We spent a lot of time talking about what we'd do during our upcoming off crew at Pearl Harbor. We'd talk about taking leave to visit family on the mainland, or cruising for sex, or going scuba diving, or drinking a lot, or smoking dope a lot, or having sex a lot.
We also talked about what we'd do in an actual missile launch. Some of us were quite clear that we'd participate in launching nuclear missiles. Some of were conflicted. Some of us were quite clear that we would do whatever it took to delay or prevent a launch. There were often highly technical discussions among numerous ratings of the latter class as to how this could be accomplished. There was a lot that the Missile Techs and the Fire Control Techs could do, of course, but they also had the Weapons Officer standing by Missile Control with his .45 strapped on. There was a lot that could be done in the Engine Room to shut down the reactor and take the propulsion system and ship's electrical systems off line. We all knew what we could do, and also knew that we would pay with our lives.
Like I said, the pucker factor was high when we were at Battle Stations Missile, the Department Heads at their stations with their sidearms, and not knowing if "This is not a drill" meant that it was a drill, and we just didn't know it yet, or no-shit, it wasn't a drill, and we were either going to launch nuclear missiles against our assigned targets, in concert with other submarines launching SLBMs, silos launching ICBMs, and B-52s dropping their bombs and assuring global destruction. It was always a huge relief when Battle Stations Missile "This is not a drill" was amended to "This is a drill, secure from Battle Stations Missile".
Fast forward to January, 2018. Quoting from WikiPedia (I've omitted references to footnotes):
Escalating tensions between North Korea and the United States, including threats by both countries that they could use nuclear weapons against one another, prompted a heightened state of readiness in Hawaii. North Korea had conducted several intercontinental ballistic missile tests over the past year, most recently in November 2017, enhancing its strike capabilities. It is possible that North Korea may have the capability to deliver nuclear missiles to Hawaii. Hawaii is located roughly 4,600 miles (7,400 km) from North Korea, and a missile launched from North Korea would leave perhaps 12 to 15 minutes of warning time.
I'd been following the news, so I was aware of this. I was in a heightened state, fully prepared for an amped up pucker factor.
On January 13, the 'amp it up' button got pushed: a Hawaii state worker pushed a button that sent out the following text message to phones throughout the state:
BALLISTIC MISSILE THREAT INBOUND TO HAWAII. SEEK IMMEDIATE SHELTER. THIS IS NOT A DRILL.
This was one of those events that anybody who was there remembers exactly where they were and what they were doing. I was in my 5th grade classroom at Amber Drive Elementary School when Kennedy was assassinated. I was in the bulllpen with my fellow engineers at Shoreham Nuclear Power Station when the Challenger exploded.
I was at the helm of a Pacific Whale Foundation boat, driving a whale watch trip, when my phone chirped its incoming text message alert. We were a few miles out of Lahaina Harbor, in the Au Au Channel between Maui and Lanai. I picked my phone up and read the message. I amped up to full pucker factor. I looked behind me and could see passengers picking up their phones and coming to terms with the same message I had just read.
What do you do? I could be a mistake. It could be a drill to be announced later. It could be no shit, this is not a drill. I could either return to port, or I could head to sea. Maui has a Star Wars installation at the summit of Haleakala and a few 'secret' defense installations on the south shore of Maui. It could be a target. Or it might not. If if were, there was no place safe, but distance from Ground Zero would help. Oahu would definitely be a target. I turned the boat to a heading that would take us to the southwestern shore of Lanai, my thinking being that would provide us an island between us and Oahu. I got on the PA and advised passengers to remain inside the main cabin, and instructed crew to close the windows and doors.
I also monitored the radio. The Coast Guard said they didn't know what was happening, and advised mariners to take prudent precautions. There was a lot of chatter among other boats, but nobody knew if it was real, and nobody knew what to do. I learned later that several of them watched to see what I would do, and followed me toward Lanai.
I tried calling my wife, but no answer; turns out she was surging. I tried calling off crew on shore, but got no answers. I ended up texting Kirsten that no matter what, I wanted her to know I was thinking of her and loved her. And then I sat in my captain's chair and drove toward Lanai.
Unlike sitting at the Electric Plant Control Panel in Maneuvering, there was nothing I could do to influence events. I reflected on my life, and how as a younger man I was determined to live it with no regrets. As things turned out, I have many regrets, but overall feel I did the best I could, and was happy and satisfied with how I turned out. I hoped it wasn't my last day, but felt I could leave this life content if it were. I drove on and waited it out.
Thirty eight minutes later, the Coast Guard announced that the alarm was a false alarm, and we were in the all clear. I turned back to Lahaina, and spent the rest of the day driving 'normal' whale watches.
Glad I'm still here. Glad I'm not anywhere near a nuclear target.
I recall being asked, in a job interview, what was the worst fuck-up I'd ever made. I replied, without hesitation, the time during engineering drills, when I tripped off the wrong SSTG. The drill supervisor announced that the steam supply to the port SSTG was shut off, and I should have opened the output breaker to the port SSTG and shifted all loads to the starboard SSTG. But for some reason, I opened the starboard SSTG output breaker. All the lights went out, and the MGs shifted from AC-driven to DC-driven, and the lights went back on. I had to bring the starboard SSTG back on line, shift the MGs back to DC-driven, so they could resume keeping the battery charged, bring the port SSTG back on line, parallel it to the AC bus, and balance the ship's electrical loads between port and starboard SSTGs.
The whole evolution took less than a minute, and while I was totally humiliated by my fuck up, I was actually praised by the drill supervisor for my prompt restoration of the ship's normal electrical lineup. One of the consequences of my fuck-up was that I became the duty Electrical Operator for General Quarters.
This meant that when the alarm sounded, I was either relieved from my Aux Electrician Aft duties, or woken up from my off-watch down time in my bunk, or otherwise ended up relieving the EO for the duration of the drill or emergency.
Sometimes the drills were "Battle Stations Missile". When the gong sounded and the announcement was made, they sometimes announced "This is a drill". Sometimes the drill originated from headquarters, and sometimes they would announce "This is a drill", and sometimes they would announce "This is not a drill". The pucker factor was amped up, when they announced "This is not a drill".
We knew, from previous experience, that drills could be originated from Pearl Harbor, or wherever, and it wouldn't be made known to us that it was a drill until after the missiles were spun up and ready to launch. And we always hoped and prayed that it was yet another drill.
But we also knew, from previous experience, that "This is not a drill" really meant that we were no-shit taking on water, or no-shit at risk of imminent collision, or no-shit there was fire. We could hear the yelling, hear the water spraying, hear the screws overhead, or smell the smoke, so we were trained that "This is not a drill" means "This is no-shit, the real thing".
Everyone on board would report to their assigned watch stations, and the ship would go through the evolution of preparing the ship's ballistic missiles for launch. The Steam Plant Operator had his station on the inboard panel of Maneuvering, the Reactor Operator on the center panel, and the Electrical Operator on the outboard panel. The Engineering Officer of the Watch sat on a stool behind the three operators. During Battle Stations Missile, the Engineering Officer joined the EOOW and three Operators in Maneuvering. He wore a .45 pistol on a belt. His job was to shoot anyone who thought they might sabotage a launch.
I remember the Cuban Missile Crisis. I was just a kid, but I remember how afraid my parents and my teachers were. I remember 'duck and cover' drills, and we would all scramble underneath our school desks. I remember glancing out the windows that looked over the Pacific Ocean as I ducked, knowing that we were located between San Diego Harbor to the south and Camp Pendleton to the north, and wondering if my desk would really save me.
This was the era of Mutually Assured Destruction, which really was a mad way to run the world. But this was the world I grew up in.
It wasn't unusual during normal underway ops for roaming watchstanders to gather at the hatches between compartments to shoot the shit. You'd have Missile Technicians and Fire Control Technicians from the Weapons Department gabbing with Machinists Mates and Electricians Mates and Electronics Technicians from the Engineering Department at the door between the Missile Compartment and Auxiliary Machinery Room 1. We spent a lot of time talking about what we'd do during our upcoming off crew at Pearl Harbor. We'd talk about taking leave to visit family on the mainland, or cruising for sex, or going scuba diving, or drinking a lot, or smoking dope a lot, or having sex a lot.
We also talked about what we'd do in an actual missile launch. Some of us were quite clear that we'd participate in launching nuclear missiles. Some of were conflicted. Some of us were quite clear that we would do whatever it took to delay or prevent a launch. There were often highly technical discussions among numerous ratings of the latter class as to how this could be accomplished. There was a lot that the Missile Techs and the Fire Control Techs could do, of course, but they also had the Weapons Officer standing by Missile Control with his .45 strapped on. There was a lot that could be done in the Engine Room to shut down the reactor and take the propulsion system and ship's electrical systems off line. We all knew what we could do, and also knew that we would pay with our lives.
Like I said, the pucker factor was high when we were at Battle Stations Missile, the Department Heads at their stations with their sidearms, and not knowing if "This is not a drill" meant that it was a drill, and we just didn't know it yet, or no-shit, it wasn't a drill, and we were either going to launch nuclear missiles against our assigned targets, in concert with other submarines launching SLBMs, silos launching ICBMs, and B-52s dropping their bombs and assuring global destruction. It was always a huge relief when Battle Stations Missile "This is not a drill" was amended to "This is a drill, secure from Battle Stations Missile".
Fast forward to January, 2018. Quoting from WikiPedia (I've omitted references to footnotes):
Escalating tensions between North Korea and the United States, including threats by both countries that they could use nuclear weapons against one another, prompted a heightened state of readiness in Hawaii. North Korea had conducted several intercontinental ballistic missile tests over the past year, most recently in November 2017, enhancing its strike capabilities. It is possible that North Korea may have the capability to deliver nuclear missiles to Hawaii. Hawaii is located roughly 4,600 miles (7,400 km) from North Korea, and a missile launched from North Korea would leave perhaps 12 to 15 minutes of warning time.
I'd been following the news, so I was aware of this. I was in a heightened state, fully prepared for an amped up pucker factor.
On January 13, the 'amp it up' button got pushed: a Hawaii state worker pushed a button that sent out the following text message to phones throughout the state:
BALLISTIC MISSILE THREAT INBOUND TO HAWAII. SEEK IMMEDIATE SHELTER. THIS IS NOT A DRILL.
This was one of those events that anybody who was there remembers exactly where they were and what they were doing. I was in my 5th grade classroom at Amber Drive Elementary School when Kennedy was assassinated. I was in the bulllpen with my fellow engineers at Shoreham Nuclear Power Station when the Challenger exploded.
I was at the helm of a Pacific Whale Foundation boat, driving a whale watch trip, when my phone chirped its incoming text message alert. We were a few miles out of Lahaina Harbor, in the Au Au Channel between Maui and Lanai. I picked my phone up and read the message. I amped up to full pucker factor. I looked behind me and could see passengers picking up their phones and coming to terms with the same message I had just read.
What do you do? I could be a mistake. It could be a drill to be announced later. It could be no shit, this is not a drill. I could either return to port, or I could head to sea. Maui has a Star Wars installation at the summit of Haleakala and a few 'secret' defense installations on the south shore of Maui. It could be a target. Or it might not. If if were, there was no place safe, but distance from Ground Zero would help. Oahu would definitely be a target. I turned the boat to a heading that would take us to the southwestern shore of Lanai, my thinking being that would provide us an island between us and Oahu. I got on the PA and advised passengers to remain inside the main cabin, and instructed crew to close the windows and doors.
I also monitored the radio. The Coast Guard said they didn't know what was happening, and advised mariners to take prudent precautions. There was a lot of chatter among other boats, but nobody knew if it was real, and nobody knew what to do. I learned later that several of them watched to see what I would do, and followed me toward Lanai.
I tried calling my wife, but no answer; turns out she was surging. I tried calling off crew on shore, but got no answers. I ended up texting Kirsten that no matter what, I wanted her to know I was thinking of her and loved her. And then I sat in my captain's chair and drove toward Lanai.
Unlike sitting at the Electric Plant Control Panel in Maneuvering, there was nothing I could do to influence events. I reflected on my life, and how as a younger man I was determined to live it with no regrets. As things turned out, I have many regrets, but overall feel I did the best I could, and was happy and satisfied with how I turned out. I hoped it wasn't my last day, but felt I could leave this life content if it were. I drove on and waited it out.
Thirty eight minutes later, the Coast Guard announced that the alarm was a false alarm, and we were in the all clear. I turned back to Lahaina, and spent the rest of the day driving 'normal' whale watches.
Glad I'm still here. Glad I'm not anywhere near a nuclear target.
Lucile
Who: David Himle & Kirsten Robinson
Port: Lahaina
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