As we moved farther aft, we passed by the kinds of tool sheds and other temporary storage buildings that you find at any construction site. Then we dropped down a ladder back to the hangar deck and down another into the bowels of the ship. At this point, the primary work on Truman involved preparing some eight hundred (out of a total 2,700) compartments for turnover to the Navy. Those compartments contain crew berthing, medical facilities, galley and mess areas, office spaces, the ship's store, the post office, and storage rooms. Everything needed to finish these spaces must be carried up and down ladders and through narrow passageways by hand. Sprained knees and ankles are the price paid to haul paint cans, power cables, and tools into the ship.
Shortly after this job was completed, just after New Year's of 1998, the first of the Navy's crew of "plankowners" arrived. Several of the ship's spaces that had already been turned over proved to be spotless when we visited them; and the quality and workmanship are very impressive. In particular, the communications spaces, which were just being brought to life by a Navy crew, had the look and smell of a new automobile. As the final stop on my visit, I was allowed to visit the magazines and the pump room in the very bottom of the ship.
It was close to quitting time when we made our way back to the hangar deck, aft to the fantail, and down the access ramps to the dock. As we sat waiting for our tired leg muscles to loosen, the shift alarm went off, and we watched 2,600 NNS workers come off shift and head for home-an impressive sight. As they passed by us on the dock, I was reminded of the builders of the Egyptian pharaoh's pyramids. Both groups labored to build a wonder of the world. Unlike the pharaoh's slaves who hauled and stacked the stones in the desert, these people have chosen to labor at their "wonder of the world." They want these jobs, take pride in what they do, and make good livings. For those who think that Americans don't build anything worthwhile these days, I say go down to NNS and watch these great men and women build metal mountains that float, move, and fly airplanes off the top. It truly is the "NNS" miracle.
When the initial crew cadre came aboard Truman in early 1998, they began to help the NNS yard workers bring the ship's various systems to life. This process (ongoing until the ship is handed over to the Navy) is designed to make her ready for her "final exams," when the carrier will become truly seaworthy, with her reactors powered up and most of her "plankowner" crew aboard. Combat systems tests occur when the ship is about 98 % complete, with evaluations of the radar and radio electronics, defensive weapons, and all the vast network of internal communications and alarms. After these tests, it is time for sea trials off the Virginia capes, including speed runs to evaluate the power plant. After these trials are completed, the Navy conducts one last series of inspections prior to the most important ceremony of the entire building process (at least for NNS). This is the signing of the Federal Form DD-250, which indicates that the Navy has taken possession of the vessel and NNS can now be paid!
The next six to eight months are filled with training and readiness exercises, including the traditional "shakedown" cruise. Following this is a short period of yard maintenance (known as "Post Shakedown Availability") to fix any problems that have cropped up. The new carrier will then spend much of her time over at the Norfolk Naval Station, moored to one of the long carrier docks, where she will get ready for commissioning. At the commissioning ceremony, the high officials, the dignitaries, and the ship's sponsor once again gather. Again there are speeches and presentations. And almost a decade after the decision was made to build this mighty warship, a signal is given, the commissioning pennant is raised, the crew rushes aboard to man the sides, and she is finally a warship in the U.S. Navy.
The Nimitz Class: A Guided Tour
Let's now take a short walking tour of a Nimitz-class carrier. We'll start the way most guests come aboard, at the officers' accommodation brow on the starboard side just under the island. One of the first things you notice is the thickness of the hull, which is composed of high-strength steel several inches thick. It is that thick to protect against battle damage and fires. The same material makes up the flight and hangar decks, providing them with a similar resistance to damage and fires. Everywhere, there are redundant water and firefighting mains, with damage control stations in every passageway. The Navy is deadly serious about firefighting, and there even is a water deluge system, which can flood the deck, or wash it down in the event of a nuclear or chemical attack.
Past the entryway hatch, you take the first of many tall steps over structural members the crew calls "knee knockers." Though they are a constant nuisance to movement throughout the ship, these steel thresholds provide structural strength to the entire vessel. A Nimitz has miles of virtually indistinguishable passageways. And there are dozens of places in them where just standing around watching can be hazardous-due to noise, fumes, moving machinery, or simply wet, slippery decks. These passageways are considerably narrower than those in other combat vessels, particularly amphibious ships which have room for combat-loaded Marines to move around. Despite their huge size, carriers are volume-limited, and space for people to live, work, and walk takes away capacity for fuel, bombs, and fighting power. So getting around with any sort of load can be a genuine chore. You often see "bucket brigades" of sailors moving loads of food and other supplies from one place to another.
The narrow corridors are one important reason for the Navy's constant emphasis on simple courtesy. A senior officer or chief headed in the opposite direction always gets a respectful greeting and the right of way in these narrow passages. I learned a valuable lesson sometime ago from a civilian analyst who had spent many years on board Navy ships: "If you're standing anywhere and you're not touching metal, you're probably in somebody's way."
Moving inboard through several hatches, you emerge into the vast hangar deck; 684 feet/208.5 meters long, 108 feet/33 meters wide, and 25 feet/ 7.6 meters tall-about two-thirds the total length of the ship. Three immense sets of power-driven sliding armored doors divide the hangar bay into zones, to limit the spread of a fire or damage from explosions. In good weather, daylight floods in from four huge oval openings in the sidewalls where the elevators are located. In bad weather sliding barriers seal off the elevator openings to keep the interiors safe and dry. The elevators themselves are the largest aluminum structures on the ship (to save weight). Each of these mammoth lifts (one on each side aft, with two others forward on the starboard side) can raise two fully loaded F-14 Tomcats (the heaviest carrier aircraft) to the flight deck at one time. This is one of the few places on the ship where you can actually see the sea and sky, and remind yourself of the outside world. The flight deck, by contrast, is a highly restricted area. Since there are no portholes, most of the crew rarely sees the light of day. You often find crew members who go days and weeks at a time without either a breath of fresh air or a view of the outside world.