Submarine Captain Quotes

People can't anticipate how much they'll miss the natural world until they are deprived of it. I have read about submarine crewmen who haunt the sonar room, listening to whale songs and colonies of snapping shrimp. Submarine captains dispense 'periscope liberty'- a chance to gaze at clouds and birds and coastlines and remind themselves that the natural world still exists. I once met a man who told me that after landing in Christchurch, New Zealand, after a winter at the South Pole research station, he and his companions spent a couple days just wandering around staring in awe at flowers and trees. At one point, one of them spotted a woman pushing a stroller. 'A baby!' he shouted, and they all rushed across the street to see. The woman turned the stroller and ran.

The most important effect of all this was to leave the determination as to which ships were to be spared, which to be sunk, to the discretion of individual U-boat commanders. Thus a lone submarine captain, typically a young man in his twenties or thirties, ambitious, driven to accumulate as much sunk tonnage as possible, far from his base and unable to make wireless contact with superiors, his vision limited to the small and distant view afforded by a periscope, now held the power to make a mistake that could change the outcome of the entire war. As

I watched an old American submarine movie on television. The creaking plot had the captain and first officer constantly at each other’s throat. The submarine was a fossil, and one guy had claustrophobia. But all that didn’t stop everything from working out well in the end. It was an everything-works-out-in-the-end-so-maybe-war’s-not-so-bad-after-all sort of film. One of these days they’ll be making a film where the whole human race gets wiped out in a nuclear war, but everything works out in the end.

Both camps maneuvered to win the endorsement of Kaiser Wilhelm, who, as the nation’s supreme military leader, had the final say. He authorized U-boat commanders to sink any ship, regardless of flag or markings, if they had reason to believe it was British or French. More importantly, he gave the captains permission to do so while submerged, without warning. The most important effect of all this was to leave the determination as to which ships were to be spared, which to be sunk, to the discretion of individual U-boat commanders. Thus a lone submarine captain, typically a young man in his twenties or thirties, ambitious, driven to accumulate as much sunk tonnage as possible, far from his base and unable to make wireless contact with superiors, his vision limited to the small and distant view afforded by a periscope, now held the power to make a mistake that could change the outcome of the entire war. As Chancellor Bethmann would later put it, “Unhappily, it depends upon the attitude of a single submarine commander whether America will or will not declare war.

I was on duty when our submarine went into port in Nassau and tied up at the Prince George Wharf, and I was the officer who accepted an invitation from the governor-general of the Bahamas for our officers and crewmen to attend an official ball to honor the U.S. Navy. There was a more private comment that a number of young ladies would be present with their chaperones. All of us were pleased and excited, and Captain Andrews responded affirmatively. We received a notice the next day that, of course, the nonwhite crewmen would not be included. When I brought this message to the captain, he had the crew assemble in the mess hall and asked for their guidance in drafting a response. After multiple expletives were censored from the message, we unanimously declined to participate. The decision by the crew of the K-1 was an indication of how equal racial treatment had been accepted—and relished. I was very proud of my ship. On leave

They advanced on a zigzagging track as a measure against enemy submarines, but that required mass-choreographed maneuvers that could easily go awry. When one of the cruisers missed a turn and dropped out of position, her captain received a sarcastic message by blinker light from Admiral Halsey: “May I suggest that if at all convenient you get where you belong?” Shortly afterward, he received another: “Have you any officer aboard able to judge distance accurately within 6,000 yards?

With the lessons learned from the Mike SSN disaster in the North Sea off Norway, the Typhoon’s captain decided to remain where he was to await rescue. Mack knew the Russian captain had lost his cool; he was now in the South China Sea, where no Russian ships could come to his rescue. What’s more, Cheyenne had finally picked up the last Akula, whose captain had elected to pull off to be able to fight another day and which had managed to distance itself from the fray. Cheyenne was there as the Typhoon reached the surface. The Russian submarine had been severely damaged, but Mack ordered four more torpedoes into the defenseless Typhoon. There was seldom mercy in wartime, and Cheyenne’s and Mack’s orders were clear. If he had allowed the Typhoon to survive, its crew would have cut the missile hatches open with blow torches and completed their launch against Taiwan. The result of the additional four torpedoes exploding beneath the Typhoon caused major seawater system flooding. The ensuing scene was similar to the devastation experienced by the Yankee class SSBN southeast of the Bermudas years before. Only this time there was no capability to protect and remove the crew. Life rafts were put over the side, only to be attacked by the South China Sea shark population, so the crew watched helplessly from the huge, flat missile-tube deck. The oversized submarine started settling slowly deeper, the water level rising to within meters of the missile- tube deck, with the crew topside. The captain—the admiral-to-be-had already sent a message to his North Fleet Headquarters concerning the impending demise of his capital ship and the lack of help from his Akula escorts by name, two of which had been sunk. He had not been given any means to communicate with the Chinese, so he resorted to calling home. After that he went topside to be with his men, sat down, and held hands in a circle as their submarine slid beneath the surface of the sea, sailors to the end, for eternity.

We ate dinner and talked, and I sipped chilled wine slowly, savoring every single swallow, even as I savored every single moment with the man sitting next to me. I loved looking at him when he talked, loved the movement of his mouth. He has the best mouth, I’d think to myself. His mouth drove me absolutely wild. We wound up on his couch, watching a submarine movie and making out, with the chorus of “The Navy Hymn” in the background. And just like that, it happened: the executive officer had just relieved the captain of command of the ship. It was a tense, exciting moment in the movie, and I was suddenly so overcome with emotion, I couldn’t control myself. My head rested on his shoulder, my heart rested entirely in his hands. And in a whisper, my words escaped: “I love you.” He probably hadn’t heard them. He was too focused on the movie. But he had heard me; I could tell. His arms enveloped me even further; his embrace tightened. He breathed in and sighed, and his hand played with my hair. “Good,” he said softly, and his gentle lips found mine.

Burns and Allen household names—Gracie’s search for her “lost brother.” Whose idea was it? In The Big Broadcast, Frank Buxton and Bill Owen credit Bob Taplinger, head of publicity at CBS. Carroll thought the idea originated with Burns. In one of his books, Burns said it came out of the agency, whose executives wanted to publicize the show’s new 9:30 timeslot. All that mattered was this: it was the most sensational thing of its time. It was launched Jan. 4, 1933. Gracie mentioned that her brother was missing, and this became the centerpiece of the broadcast. The following Sunday she appeared without notice on Eddie Cantor’s show. She was looking for her brother, she told Cantor and the nation. She popped up suddenly on Jack Benny’s program. She appeared on melodramas and soap operas. Even when she did not appear, the search for Gracie Allen’s brother was worked into dramatic skits. Burns remembered that a telephone rang on a tense drama set inside a submarine. From the surface, someone asked the captain, “Is Gracie Allen’s brother down there with you?” Department stores worked the gag into their newspaper ads, and people everywhere were telling Gracie’s-brother jokes.

However, there have been close calls where we were extremely lucky that there was a human in the loop. On October 27, 1962, during the Cuban Missile Crisis, eleven U.S. Navy destroyers and the aircraft carrier USS Randolph had cornered the Soviet submarine B-59 near Cuba, in international waters outside the U.S. “quarantine” area. What they didn’t know was that the temperature onboard had risen past 45°C (113°F) because the submarine’s batteries were running out and the air-conditioning had stopped. On the verge of carbon dioxide poisoning, many crew members had fainted. The crew had had no contact with Moscow for days and didn’t know whether World War III had already begun. Then the Americans started dropping small depth charges, which they had, unbeknownst to the crew, told Moscow were merely meant to force the sub to surface and leave. “We thought—that’s it—the end,” crew member V. P. Orlov recalled. “It felt like you were sitting in a metal barrel, which somebody is constantly blasting with a sledgehammer.” What the Americans also didn’t know was that the B-59 crew had a nuclear torpedo that they were authorized to launch without clearing it with Moscow. Indeed, Captain Savitski decided to launch the nuclear torpedo. Valentin Grigorievich, the torpedo officer, exclaimed: “We will die, but we will sink them all—we will not disgrace our navy!” Fortunately, the decision to launch had to be authorized by three officers on board, and one of them, Vasili Arkhipov, said no. It’s sobering that very few have heard of Arkhipov, although his decision may have averted World War III and been the single most valuable contribution to humanity in modern history.38 It’s also sobering to contemplate what might have happened had B-59 been an autonomous AI-controlled submarine with no humans in the loop.

Captain, we’ve got a problem.”  A second crew pilot was driving along the floor of the Mediterranean Sea and reached around to shake the shoulder of Toby Warson, who was in his usual sleeping position behind the two pilot chairs, simultaneously sound asleep and not really resting at all.  Warson blinked, looked at the screens, and shuddered.  Every TV camera on the boat showed the NR‑1 was in the middle of a field of mines that had sunk to the bottom during World War II.  The sonar, for reasons unknown, had not warned the pilot of the danger, and now the boat was completely surrounded by the ominous spines of the black mines. “Jesus!  Don’t move!  Don’t do anything!”  Warson was wide awake, knowing that high explosives become

From time to time the German U-boat commanders have tried their best to behave with humanity. We have seen them give good warning and also endeavour to help the crews to find their way to port. One German captain signalled to me personally the position of a British ship which he had just sunk, and urged that rescue should be sent. He signed his message “German Submarine”. I was in some doubt at the time to what address I should direct a reply. However, he is now in our hands, and is treated with all consideration. Even

The plan was born in the mind of a novelist and took shape through a most unlikely cast of characters: a brilliant barrister, a family of undertakers, a forensic pathologist, a gold prospector, an inventor, a submarine captain, a transvestite English spymaster, a rally driver, a pretty secretary, a credulous Nazi, and a grumpy admiral who loved fly-fishing.

Atop the submarine, the sailor in the raglan coat visually confirmed that the missile door had opened properly. He closed the outer hatch in the floor of the bridge and knelt behind a steel protective shield. His job was to remain in this somewhat precarious spot—the only person outside the hull—to be available in the event of any last-minute problems. Below the bridge in the action center, an officer peering through the periscope confirmed number-one missile hatch open and clear. The commander provided a large cassette containing the computerized codes required to arm the missile warhead. Normally, the codes would have been locked inside the captain’s safe, to be retrieved by the captain and the submarine’s political officer only after orders were received from fleet headquarters. This time, the officer in charge simply handed the cassette to

But asking a physicist to comment on smoking and cancer is like asking an Air Force captain to comment on the design of a submarine. He might know something about it; then again, he might not. In any case, he’s not an expert.

The SS San Pasqual The SS San Pasqual was launched on June 28, 1920, but less than a year later was severely damaged in a heavy storm. In 1924, the “Old Time Molasses Company of Havana,” a leading Cuban-American molasses company, bought her to be used in Santiago de Cuba, as a floating storage container for raw molasses. Eventually her superstructure was somewhat dismantled and she was towed to Havana, where she remained until 1933. Later, she was once again towed. This time the SS San Pasqual was taken along Cuba’s northern coast and purposely run aground off Cayo Santa María. During World War II, the SS San Pasqual was outfitted with machine guns and light cannons. Since the ship was hard aground, she was unable to chase Nazi submarines, but she was far enough off the coast to serve as a submarine lookout post. A footbridge was constructed out to her, providing access from the mainland, but time, tides and hurricanes have washed away all signs of the old bridge.

MS City of New York The MS City of New York commanded by Captain George T. Sullivan, maintained a regular schedule between New York City and Cape Town, South Africa until the onset of World War II when on March 29, 1942 she was attacked off the coast of Cape Hatteras, North Carolina by the German submarine U-160 commanded by Kapitänleutnant Georg Lassen.

To Have and Have Not” It was during 1937 that Ernest Hemingway wrote the novel “To Have and Have Not” about Harry Morgan, a fishing boat captain who ran contraband between Havana and Key West. Things didn’t go well for Morgan as he sank ever deeper into debt. Hemingway’s book continued with Harry Morgan running his boat between Cuba and the United States, carrying revolutionaries to Cuba and smuggling Chinese immigrants and rum into Florida. The depression during the early 1930’s and the hunger experienced by the “Conchs” of Key West was Morgan’s motive for ferrying his illegal cargo between the two countries. When Ernest Hemingway moved to Cuba early in 1939, he took his boat the Pilar across the Straits of Florida to Havana, where he first checked into the Hotel Ambos Mundos. Shortly thereafter, Martha joined him in Cuba and they initially rented, and later in 1940, purchased a home for $12,500. Located 10 miles to the east of Havana, in the small town of San Francisco de Paula, they settled into what they called Finca Vigía, the Lookout Farm. After a difficult divorce from Pauline, Ernest and Martha got married on November 20, 1940. Even though Cuba had permanently become their home, they sought writing assignments overseas, including one in China that Martha got for Collier’s magazine. Returning to Cuba just prior to the outbreak of World War II, he convinced the Cuban government to outfit his boat with armaments, with which he intended to ambush German submarines. As the war progressed, Hemingway went to London as a war correspondent, where he met Mary Welsh. His infatuation prompted him to propose to her, which of course did not sit well with Martha.

The USS Pargo, known for its participation in the search for the missing attack submarine USS Scorpion in 1968, was altered to conduct acoustic trials leading to acoustic alterations of all U.S. submarines. She was also involved in artic research during which the USS Pargo surfaced at the North Pole several times. Following this she was assigned to station keeping duty off the coast of New London and conducted various trials in the Caribbean. The Pargo was decommissioned on April 14, 1995 and scraped in 1996.

Chester William Nimitz, Sr. was the last surviving officer to serve as a five star admiral in the Unites States Navy, holding the rank of Fleet Admiral. His career started as a midshipman at the United States Naval Academy where he graduated with honors on January 30, 1905. Becoming a submarine officer, Nimitz was responsible of the construction of the USS Nautilus, the first nuclear powered submarine. During World War II he was appointed the Commander in Chief of the Unites States Pacific Fleet known as CinCPa. His promotions led to his becoming the Chief of Naval Operations, a post he held until 1947. The rank of Fleet Admiral in the U.S. Navy is a lifetime appointment, so he never retired and remained on active duty as the special assistant to the Secretary of the Navy for the Western Sea Frontier. He held this position for the rest of his life, with full pay and benefits. In January 1966 Nimitz suffered a severe stroke, complicated by pneumonia. On February 20, 1966, at 80 years of age, he died at his quarters on Yerba Buena Island in San Francisco Bay. Chester William Nimitz, Sr. was buried with full military honors and lies alongside his wife and some military friends at the Golden Gate National Cemetery in San Bruno, California.

When he returned to Florida in the early part of 1939, Hemingway took his boat the Pilar across the Straits of Florida to Havana, where he checked into the Hotel Ambos Mundos. Shortly thereafter, Martha joined him in Cuba and they first rented, and later in 1940, purchased their home for $12,500. Located 10 miles to the east of Havana, in the small town of San Francisco de Paula, they settled into what they called Finca Vigía, the Lookout Farm. On November 20, 1940, after a difficult divorce from Pauline, Ernest and Martha got married. Even though Cuba had become their home, they still took editorial assignments overseas, including one in China that Martha had for Collier’s magazine. Returning to Cuba just prior to the outbreak of World War II, he convinced the Cuban government to outfit his boat with armaments, with which he intended to ambush German submarines. As the war progressed, Hemingway went to London as a war correspondent, where he met Mary Welsh. His infatuation prompted him to propose to her, which of course did not sit well with Martha. Hemingway was present at the liberation of Paris and attended a party hosted by Sylvia Beach. He, incidentally, also renewed a friendship with Gertrude Stein. Becoming a famous war correspondence he covered the Battle of the Bulge, however he then spent the rest of the war on the sidelines hospitalized with pneumonia. Even so, Ernest was awarded the Bronze Star for bravery. Once again, Hemingway fell in lust, this time with a 19-year-old girl, Adriana Ivancich. This so-called platonic, wink, wink, love affair was the essence of his novel Across the River and Into the Trees, which he wrote in Cuba.

We are within five hundred miles of the intersection of the forty-fifth parallel and the twenty-seventh meridian, east from Washington," said the captain. "That's as near as I could locate the wreck.

The opposition of the unbounded, anarchic sea to the national, political organization of the land is far more important to Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea than is the design or practicality of Captain Nemo’s submarine.

Modern visitors were often surprised to learn that the names and ages of the children were changed, three children were deleted from the story, and that “Edelweiss” was not a traditional Austrian folk song but was written by Rodgers and Hammerstein in 1959. Those who consulted a map would ask how landlocked Austria had a navy and learn that the real-life Georg von Trapp had been a World War I submarine captain in the navy of the Austro-Hungarian Empire, which controlled the port city Trieste (now part of Italy) and the Slovenian and Croatian coasts. Tourists would also learn that escaping Nazi-dominated Austria by hiking to Switzerland is not an option, as the border is roughly two hundred miles away. In fact, locals chuckled at the film’s closing scene, as the family is depicted hiking in the direction toward Germany and the Kehlsteinhaus, known to Americans and the British as Hitler’s “Eagle’s Nest.

In World War 2, submarine captains were told the U.S. had cracked the Japanese Navy codes, while surface vessel captains were not. Why? Because there were never any captured sailors from submarines.

The supply ship Antares (AG-10) was inbound to Pearl Harbor, heading toward the submarine nets protecting the entrance channel. Between Antares and the barge it was towing, Captain Outerbridge made out the unmistakable silhouette of the conning tower and periscope of an unknown submarine. There was no doubt in his mind that this was an intruder intent on following Antares through the open submarine nets and into the harbor. Outerbridge called for speed and ordered a turn toward the target as the Ward surged to twenty knots. At 6:45 a.m. the destroyer fired two shots from its four-inch guns. The first passed directly over the submarine’s conning tower and missed. The second hit the submarine at the waterline between the conning tower and its hull. As the Ward’s action report later characterized it, “This was a square positive hit.” The target heeled over to starboard and appeared to slow and sink, drifting into a tightly spaced salvo of depth charges set for 100 feet that the Ward dropped as it crossed the submarine’s bow. Outerbridge couldn’t be certain, but a large oil slick on the surface after the depth charges exploded indicated that his quarry had likely sunk. He radioed a voice transmission saying the Ward had “dropped depth charges upon subs,” but two minutes later, fearing that the report might be taken merely as one more in a long line of sketchy contacts, Outerbridge made clear that this had been no illusion: “We have attacked, fired upon, and dropped depth charges on a submarine operating in defensive sea area,” he radioed. Seconds later, just to be certain his information had been received, Outerbridge queried, “Did you get that last message?” The answer was yes, and the report made its way up the chain of command, reaching Admiral Kimmel about forty minutes later. Like others who’d relayed the message, Kimmel was skeptical. “I was not at all certain that this was a real attack,” he later told investigators. It would take sixty years before a Japanese midget submarine was discovered in some twelve hundred feet of water with a hole in its conning tower—evidence that Outerbridge and the Ward had indeed inflicted the first casualties of the day.4

Hi there, this is Captain Nemo of the Submarine Nautilus speaking. Over." "You're who?" "The guy in Twenty Zillion Leagues Under the Sea. You know. Great flick. Saw it when I was a kid in Seattle. Best part was the fight with the giant squid.

But by the purest luck, submarine B-59 carried the commander of the entire flotilla, Captain Vasili Arkhipov, and so required his additional consent. Arkhipov refused to grant it. Instead, he talked Captain Savitsky down from his rage and convinced him to give up: to surface amidst the US warships and await further orders from Moscow.2

At the bottom of Pleasant Street where it turns to become Water Street, the Academy constructed its waterfront facility. It included a Sail Loft and the Engineering Laboratory that housed a large diesel engine, as well as components for steam engines and steam winches. Maine Maritime Academy, although not comparable in size to the larger more established academies, soon became known and respected throughout the maritime industry. When I arrived at the Academy in August of 1952, the school had already been in existence for about eleven years. The waterfront was comprised of a small rickety dock, to which the old training ship, the TS American Sailor was moored, and an even smaller dock that was home to a retired wooden “Navy Submarine Chaser,” without a name.

The original flagship for the company was the MS City of New York, commanded by Captain George T. Sullivan, On March 29, 1942, she was attacked off the coast of Cape Hatteras, North Carolina, by the German submarine U-160. The torpedo struck the MS City of New York at the waterline under the ship’s bridge, instantly disabling her. After allowing the survivors to get into lifeboats the submarine sunk the ship. Almost two days after the attack, a destroyer, the USS Roper, rescued 70 survivors, of which 69 survived. An additional 29 others were picked up by USS Acushnet, formerly a seagoing tugboat and revenue cutter, operated by the U.S. Coast Guard. All these survivors were taken to the Naval Base in Norfolk, Virginia. Almost two weeks later, on April 11, 1942, a U.S. Army bomber on its way to Europe spotted a lifeboat drifting in the Gulf Stream. The boat contained six passengers: four women, one man and a young girl plus thirteen crew members. Tragically two of the women died of exposure. The eleven survivors picked up by the U.S. Coast Guard Cutter CG-455 and were brought to Lewes, Delaware. The final count showed that seven passengers died as well as one armed guard and sixteen crewmen. Photo Caption: the MS City of New York Hot books by Captain Hank Bracker available at Amazon.com “Salty & Saucy Maine,” is a coming of age book that recounts Captain Hank Bracker’s formative years. “Salty & Saucy Maine – Sea Stories from Castine” tells many sea stories of Captain Hank’s years at Maine Maritime Academy and certainly demonstrates that life should be lived to the fullest! In 2020 it became the most talked about book Down East! “The Exciting Story of Cuba -Understanding Cuba’s Present by Knowing Its Past” ISBN-13: 978 1484809457. This multi-award winning history of Cuba is written in an easy-to-read style. Follow in the footsteps of the heroes, beautiful movie stars and sinister villains, who influenced the course of a country that is much bigger than its size! This book is on the shelf as a reference book at the American Embassy in Havana and most American Military and Maritime Academies.

Throughout the year we worked at maintaining and painting the vessels secured at the Academy waterfront. The school had lifeboats, running boats, sailboats, a wooden-hulled “Submarine Chaser” and the “Training Ship.” During the years that I was at the Academy, most of these ships and boats, being holdovers from World War II, were hardly new. They were in constant need of maintenance and repair, which, of course, fell to us midshipmen. Most of the other academies had the funding to hire a permanent maintenance staff, but not us. At MMA we took pride in what we did and we were the ones who took care of almost everything. Every winter, for all the years that I was at Maine Maritime Academy, we sailed from Castine, Maine, to the warm waters of the Caribbean in January. In The Tricks End, our yearbook, the Caribbean was called our third home. It gave us something to look forward to, and it gave us the practical, seagoing training we needed to become officers in the United States Maritime Service.

The MS City of New York commanded by Captain George T. Sullivan, maintained a regular schedule between New York City and Cape Town, South Africa until the onset of World War II when on March 29, 1942 she was attacked off the coast of Cape Hatteras, North Carolina by the German submarine U-160 commanded by Kapitänleutnant Georg Lassen. The torpedo struck the MS City of New York at the waterline under the ship’s bridge instantly disabling her. Surfacing the U-boat circled the crippled ship making certain that all of the crew had a chance to abandon ship. In all four lifeboats were lowered holding 41 passengers, 70 crewmen and 13 officers. The armed guard stayed behind but considering the fate of those in the lifeboats did not fire on the submarine. At a distance of about 250 yards the submarine fired a round from her deck gun striking the hapless vessel on the starboard side at the waterline, by her number 4 hold. It took 20 minutes for the MS City of New York to sink stern first. The nine members of the armed guard waited until the water reached the ships after deck before jumping into the water. The following day, a U. S. Navy PBY Catalina aircraft was said to have searched the area without finding any survivors. Almost two days after the attack, a destroyer, the USS Roper rescued 70 survivors of which 69 survived. An additional 29 others were picked up by USS Acushnet, formally a seagoing tugboat and revenue cutter, now operated by the U.S. Coast Guard. All of the survivors were taken to the U.S. Naval Base in Norfolk, Virginia. Almost two weeks later, on 11 April, a U.S. Army bomber on its way to Europe, located the forth boat at 38°40N/73°00W having been carried far off shore by the Gulf Stream. The lifeboat contained six passengers, four women, one man and a young girl plus 13 crew members. Two of the women died of exposure. The eleven survivors and two bodies (the mother of the child and the armed guard) were picked up by the U.S. Coast Guard Cutter CG-455 and were brought to Lewes, Delaware. The final count showed that seven passengers, one armed guard and 16 crewmen died.

It was over 50 years ago that I had the privilege of being the Class Advisor to the class of 1969 at what was then called Henry Abbott Regional Vocational Technical School. It was another era and a time when we as a nation stood tall. It was the year when Buzz Aldrin, Neil Armstrong and Michael Collins lifted off from Cape Kennedy, for the first manned landing on the Moon. “One small step for man, one giant leap for mankind.” It was a time when we felt proud to be Americans! Fifty years ago the 4 Beatles got together in a recording studio for the last time, where they cut “Abbey Road.” In 1969 alone they published 13 songs including “Yellow Submarine.” John Lennon claimed that the best song he ever did was “Come Together” and that was in 1969. Although it wasn’t possible for me to attend the class reunion I did however connect with them by telephone and a speaker system. I had the opportunity to wish them well and share some thoughts with my former students who are now looking forward to their senior years that I always thought of as “The Youth of Old Age.” Having just celebrated my 85th birthday, 69 years old does seem quite youthful in comparison. Earlier in the week Dave Coelho, the class Vice President read to me the list of graduates that are no longer with us. I was stunned by the number, but at the time the United States was at war, regardless of what it was called. In 1968, the year before the class graduated, our country had a peak of 549,000 of our young people serving in Viet Nam. During the year of the Tet Offensive alone, 543 were killed and 2547 were wounded, and that is what the class of 1969 faced upon their graduation! It was a war in which 57,939 of our young people were killed or went missing! It was nice to talk to the class president LaBarbera and I enjoyed the feeling of guilt when one former student told me that he still has a problem with addition. To this I gladly accepted the blame but reminded him that this would not be of much help, if he had to face the IRS when his taxes didn’t compute. Look for part 2, the conclusion

The captain blew his whistle and poured the ashes down the tube into the water. He then threw a set of submariner’s “dolphins” into the ashes. The splash as they hit the water and then the silence as they sank into the sea took my breath away again.

This magnificent city that I only knew from photographs had been devastated. The infamous submarine bunkers had been bombed, and the bunkers that survived were later dynamited. I could understand this, but why civilian houses had also been leveled and set afire by incendiary bombs was beyond me. Each British Lancaster bomber delivered up to 8,000 pounds of bomb loads each night, with as many as 1,000 bombers over the target on a given night. During these raids, this great port city was set alight like a Roman candle! American B-17 and B 24 bombers also came during the daytime. Operation Gomorrah was conducted day and night causing a howling noise as the Feuersturm firestorm sucked the air out of the city to feed itself. With surface temperatures reaching 1,400 degrees Fahrenheit, asphalt streets actually melted, leaving people trapped in the black molten gunk. Winds of 150 miles per hour fanned flames that reached an altitude of over 15,000 feet! I lost an aunt, who was a beautiful young woman in her twenties, along with her husband and baby. Her older sister also perished in the flames. They all now lie buried in a mass gravesite, which I visited in the Ohlsdorf Cemetery. The stories I heard from people who could still talk about them, without totally choking up, were unbelievable. It was said that over 50 miles of street frontage were set ablaze and totally reduced to ashes during the raids, and another 133 miles were severely damaged. An estimated 1,500 people were killed on the first night of the raids and many more were wounded. Those who survived were suddenly homeless and without possessions. The total casualties were estimated at approximately 45,000 people. At the end of it, Hitler refused to come to the city and sent Hermann Göring instead! This was never forgotten or forgiven by das volk, the people. What is it with us? Why do we as human beings have to experience war after war? It seems that we never learn and so perhaps we will have to witness even worse in the future.

Captain Kobzar, who had every reason to expect a leisurely refitting of the K-129, was also surprised by the abruptness of the orders. The order to embark on a new mission six months before schedule was completely out of keeping with the Soviet navy’s deployment routine for the missile boats. The sub had been in port only six weeks. What new mission could be so urgent that the normal home port call had to be drastically curtailed? Could replacements be found for the key crew members spread throughout Mother Russia on leave—most of them thousands of miles and many days’ travel away? Even if the furloughed crewmen could be contacted, most would never have time to arrange travel and return for sailing on such short notice.

A day before the scheduled departure, Captains Kobzar and Zhuravin received another jolt. It was an even more drastic deviation from operational protocol than being rushed back into service ahead of schedule. The submarine’s crew roster had already been filled with replacements, and they had been introduced to the section officers they would serve. Since these replacements were from other submarines stationed at the base, they were quickly integrated into the regular crew. The new men were assigned to their duty sections, shifts, and bunk schedules. With the replacements, all work assignments were covered for the upcoming mission. Then, without explanation, eleven strangers, all in the uniforms of Soviet sailors, showed up at the pier where K-129 was berthed. They carried written orders to join the crew. The latecomers, including nine in the uniform of common seamen and one wearing the insignia of a seaman first class, were led by a chief petty officer. The chief produced orders assigning this squad to duty aboard Kobzar’s submarine as temporary replacements for his furloughed key senior enlisted men. These last-minute assignments were especially unusual, because their numbers raised the crew total to ninety-eight, fifteen over the normal complement of eighty-three men.

The two Soviet captains were likewise unaware that the Americans were not the only observers surreptitiously watching the sailing of their sub. A shadowy group of men in Moscow, who would normally have little interest in the routine mission of a diesel-electric submarine, was also keenly tracking their progress.

This final signal from headquarters included a set of codes to be added to the captain’s codes, thereby completing the information required to conduct the launch sequence.

The next critical step in the launch procedure required close coordination among the three ranking members of the submarine crew—the submarine commander, the deputy commander, and the zampolit. This step was to be taken only after each of these officers independently verified that the General Staff transmission was authentic and produced an individual key to the launch console. On that night, this carefully designed procedure was not followed. But how could this have occurred when the stakes were so high? Had the first captain and second captain been overpowered, or were they obeying forged orders? Could lower-level regular officers assigned to the boat have been induced to participate in some mad scheme?

A second fact refutes the Soviet theory about the involvement of the American boat in the K-129 disaster. The USS Swordfish, which was based at Pearl Harbor, would certainly not have sailed thousands of miles from the site of the K-129 to Yokosuka, Japan, for emergency repairs, when its home port was less than four hundred miles away. The Swordfish, commanded by Captain John T. Rigsbee, had slight damage to its periscope housing and upper conning tower. Captain Rigsbee had the repairs done at Yokosuka so he could quickly return to his mission. The U.S. Navy will not reveal exactly what that mission was, but it is reasonable to surmise it had something to do with surveillance of Communist activities surrounding the recently pirated intelligence ship, USS Pueblo. The Americans had assigned every available asset to determine what the North Koreans were doing with the captured ship.

Drastic, and heretofore unexplained, changes in naval procedures also support the theory that Brezhnev and the Soviet military were alarmed by intelligence that K-129’s sinking might have been the result of a rogue attempt to launch a nuclear missile. A significant new procedure was adopted early in 1970, requiring the launch codes for all ballistic missile submarines to be held by General Staff headquarters. This change in long-standing procedures thereby denied any rogue or mutinous crew the ability to arm and aim its missiles without direct orders, accompanied by arming codes, from a central command. The submarine missile launch codes were also removed from the operational fleet and returned to supreme Soviet navy headquarters. Before this change, the captain kept most of the necessary targeting and launch codes, and awaited only a confirmation code from fleet headquarters to be delivered with the final order to attack. That additional code, when added to the captain’s code, unlocked the fail-safe system. Under the new procedures, submarine commanders were no longer entrusted with the firing codes before they sailed on missions; no codes were kept in the ships’ safe in the captain’s quarters. All instructions necessary to arm the mechanisms and set the target courses would henceforth be radioed to submarine commanders only after a red alert condition was declared. Shortly after the launch procedures were changed, the Soviet military took another step to safeguard deployment of nuclear weapons. The KGB was stripped of its key role as custodian of nuclear warheads. Control of nuclear devices was given to the Soviet army, navy, and air force units that deployed these weapons. Up until the end of 1969, the KGB had physical possession of all nuclear warheads for land, sea, and air delivery. Military commanders had to requisition nuclear weaponry from the KGB.

Turner chuckled softly, “We’re about to go into battle against three tin cans and you’re maundering about campfires, Mug?” The quartermaster shrugged, “What can I say, Captain… I’m a complex guy over here.” Turner shook his head, “Yeah… natives, I’d imagine. Cooking late meals or just keeping animals away… imagine that? People living like it was still a thousand, two thousand years ago? And here we are, only a couple of miles off, two technologically advanced societies… the very flowers of human achievement… and all we can do is try and kill each other.” “Kinda makes you think, don’t it?” Turner sighed, “Yep… well, no time for that shit, we got our fellow man to slaughter… radar, sonar, bridge… how ‘bout it down there?