And then I noticed the intensity of the man's eyes. They reflected a perceptive intelligence as he studied me closely, sizing me up, listening to what I said, and taking measure of the newest enlisted man who would, someday, run his boat's nuclear reactor. Although his voice was kindly, his words were concise and his thinking tightly organized. He displayed intense concentration and focus of thoughts. Quietly, he began to tell me about future activities on the Viperfish and encouraged me to begin qualifications promptly because the mission mandated a fully qualified crew.
"We're coming out of dry dock in a couple of months," he said, "and we'll be conducting sea trials, followed by a shakedown cruise to Seattle and San Francisco. We'll be testing the Fish soon thereafter, and, by that time, you should be standing watches at the reactor control panel. Do you think you can handle all that?"
"Yes, sir," I answered briskly, wondering what fish he was referring to. Jane's Fighting Ships didn't mention anything about a fish, and submarine school hadn't described fish equipment on any submarines in the fleet. Before I had the chance to ask questions, he told me how pleased he was to have me on board and dismissed me with a quick nod to Chief Mathews.
"You'll find out about the Fish when you start qualifications," Mathews said after we left the captain's stateroom and headed aft. "The next stop is the engine room, where you'll have the pleasure of meeting Bruce."
We climbed through the thick oval doors into a confining corridor leading to the engine room. Mathews paused and called back to me, "This is the reactor tunnel and the nuclear reactor is directly below you. When we're at sea and the reactor is running, you'll want to move through this area pretty fast." I looked down at my feet and discovered a large circular ring carved in the floor, presumably "ground zero." The constricted area around me was jammed with valves and pipes, and several signs displayed the nuclear symbol that warned of radiation. As I ducked my 6'2" frame around various steel obstructions protruding from the tunnel's overhead, we continued to move aft until we reached the last watertight door and the engine room. The room was hot and filled with the suffocating odor of burning diesel fuel. Surrounded by insulated pipes, gauges, valves, and circuit breakers, I came face to face with the man who was in charge of the Viperfish's nuclear reactor operators.
"Bruce, this is Dunham, fresh from New London, your new reactor operator," Mathews said. Bruce Rossi was a tough, powerful man with a burr haircut and coal-black eyes that scrutinized me closely. He barked a loud greeting and gave me a tight smile. With his heavily muscled right hand, he reached out and crushed my hand.
"Reactor operator trainee, Paul. Glad you're here, Dunham," he growled.
"Happy to be on board, Bruce," I replied. His pulsating jaw muscles suggested a significant measure of controlled anger.
He stared at me. "Let me get right to the issue at hand because there's a lot of work to be done," he said. "The Viperfish is powered by a complex water-cooled S3W nuclear reactor, and our division requires three ROs[2] qualified to control the system. Two of the ROs will be finishing their tour of duty and will be leaving the boat after the sea trials and our shakedown run. The Viperfish will, therefore, need replacement reactor operators. You are one of the replacements, and Petty Officer Richard Daniels will be the second replacement when he arrives in the next few days. Both of you are going to work your tails off to learn every system in the engine room and on the Viperfish. You need to become qualified on this boat. Fall behind on the qualifications schedule, and you will find yourself on the dink list."
Mathews smiled and turned to leave. "Don't be too hard on the guy, Bruce," he said over his shoulder. "This is his first boat."
"The dink list?" I asked Bruce.
Rossi's face looked tougher. "The delinquent list," he said. "If s updated every day, posted in the control center near the periscope station, and in plain sight for everyone to see. If you fall behind on qualifications, you will land on the dink list, you will remain on board the Viperfish, and your liberty will be curtailed. That means you can't leave the boat and you don't visit Waikiki. You will eat here and sleep here until you get caught up. I don't want any of my trainees on the goddamn dink list, and I don't want any of my qualified ROs standing goddamn port and starboard watches."
An old chief told me, a long time ago, that the Submarine Service is unique because the men are pleasant and they get along so well together — I decided that chief had never met Bruce Rossi. Although the dink list program sounded almost like a prison system, I figured it would never become a threat to me; Rossi looked like he would kill, with his own bare hands, anybody who dared to come close to getting on the dink list.
I nodded to Bruce that I understood and then glanced at the engine-room equipment around us. There were thousands of pipes, valves, and large pieces of powerful-looking steel machinery jammed into every available space. To become qualified, I knew I would have to know where each pipe went, what each valve controlled, and how every piece of machinery worked.
I turned back to Bruce. "Port and starboard watches refers to-?" I asked, trying to remain polite.
His faded blue dungaree shirt tightened across his chest as his muscles tensed with annoyance.
"Six hours on watch, six hours off, six on, six off, over and over again, week after week, month after month" he growled. "Somebody has to control the nuclear reactor, Dunham, and it can't be a man who isn't qualified. Furthermore, when we leave on our mission, the captain doesn't want his boat filled with non-qual pukes. If you and Daniels are too slow to get there and we end up with only two qualified reactor operators, they are going to be standing port and starboard watches and I am going to be pissed. Get yourself checked into the submarine barracks, pick up your qualification card from the chief of the boat, and start your quals-today. I want those systems signed off; I want you to be well on your way to becoming an RO before the Viperfish leaves the dry dock."
For the next several weeks, I chased back and forth throughout the boat and learned system after system as if my life depended on it. I quickly discovered that trying to learn about the complex equipment in the engineering spaces of a submarine in dry dock was nearly impossible. Because of the disassembled state of the engine room, I found it difficult just to walk around the passageways, much less to learn anything about the equipment. Parts of motors, pumps, and circuits were strewn everywhere. Just moving across the decking area required great care to avoid stepping on some vital component.
Although I had just completed several years of rigorous nuclear training, I found it even more difficult to figure out the operation of a submarine system that was partially in pieces. Also, the most critical parts always seemed to be missing. I searched through the thick Reactor Plant Manual for pictures of each system that I needed to learn, but finding the essential components in the maze of pipes and meters was a daunting challenge. Often, I had to locate a qualified crew member to tell me what I had missed.
When the qualified man was finished with his instructions, it was quiz time: Did I know everything there was to know about the system? If not, "Start over again, you non-qual puke, and pay attention this time." If the quiz went well, the system was signed off, there was one less thing to learn, and I was one tiny notch farther along the tortuous pathway toward submarine qualifications.
The electricity was always turned off when equipment was dis-assembled. To lessen the risk of accidentally energizing a circuit during repair work, red tags were placed all over the circuit breaker and not removed until it was demonstrated that no danger of electric shock or other problems existed. When it was time to turn on the electricity, however, I discovered that things often went very wrong.