THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Wednesday, July 5, 1995 TAG: 9507050036
SECTION: FRONT PAGE: A1 EDITION: FINAL
SOURCE: BY KERRY DEROCHI, STAFF WRITER
DATELINE: ABOARD THE USS NORFOLK LENGTH: Long : 118 lines
The black hull slices through the water like a giant whale pushing through the rolling, 3-foot swells.
The force of motion creates an endless wall of water, a long, continuous wrinkle in the sea.
On top of the tall steel sail, officers stand on a grid and scan the horizon with their binoculars, shouting directions to the crew 25 feet below.
It is almost time to dive.
The order comes at dusk and the submarine slowly, smoothly sinks. A crew member yells the depths . . . 100 feet. . . 110. . . 120. Eyes lock on round dials that mark the steady fall.
For submariners, this is all part of the routine. The anticipation that follows the call to submerge. The light hum of motion that fills the control room. The scurry of sonar that charts the ocean's noises.
For submariners, this is when it begins.
``You go away for three months and you have no contact with the outside world,'' said Matt Faccinto, an electrician. ``You stand watch. You drill. You train. You go to bed. That's what you do.
``It's hard to look past the walls of the boat. You could be sitting anywhere in the world.''
In the bowels of the Norfolk, some 200 feet below the surface on this day in late June, there is little hint of the controversy surrounding the future of the United States' submarine fleet, a force that will be cut in half as part of the military's drawdown.
Political debate over which shipyard gets to build the next class of subs seems far away from the maze of rooms where 140 crew members chart a course without seeing the light of day.
``A lot of people, for very good reasons, see submariners as being an elite group of folks, a small community, a small crew size,'' said Cmdr. William C. Ostendorff, commanding officer of the Norfolk.
``They relish the opportunity to work as part of a unique small unit at sea. Not everybody can go out to sea and stay submerged for months at a time and do a professional job.''
The Norfolk, a Los Angeles-class fast-attack submarine, is designed, quite simply, to detect enemy ships and destroy them. It is loaded with torpedoes and missiles that are shot out of four chutes.
The submarine, powered by a nuclear reactor, can stay submerged for months. Food is the only limitation.
It is easy to see why such ships have captured the fancy of Hollywood. There is a mystique to this world, a surreal quality to an existence where crew members wear tiny beeper-like devices to detect radiation exposure while gathering at night to watch Arnold Schwarzenegger movies.
``In the sub field, we're a very close-knit community,'' said Michael Helton, a sonar supervisor. ``I like the fact I can go to sea with 80 guys and know every one of them.''
Helton oversees the operation of the sonar room - a narrow passageway crammed with color monitors and four technicians wearing headphones.
They are, Helton boasts, the eyes and ears of the sub. Here, a distant merchant vessel blips across the screen as a bright green line. It is Helton's job to figure out what it is, simply by listening and looking at the mark that shows up on the screen.
``One of the key things we do every day at sea is monitor the ocean environment,'' said Helton, 27. ``Every contact leaves a fingerprint. After doing this for nine years, I can classify it.''
On a nuclear submarine, even the smallest of closet-size spaces is labeled a room.
Sonar room. Ward room. Radio room. Control room. State room.
Most of these spaces are crowded with a montage of equipment. Crew members struggle to pass each other without getting stuck. These hallways are not for the tall or wide.
Every space is used. Even the torpedo room is crammed with beds. Sailors sleep behind heavy blue curtains, right next to the long, round weapons.
Those in the enlisted quarters sleep on stacks of condiments and cans of vegetables, food supplies that will come in handy when they're underwater for the next three months.
The lighting is harsh and fluorescent, a far cry from the dramatic tinting seen in submarine movies.
In the control room, crew members plot their location with minute precision, scrawling the path on giant paper maps. Next door, other submariners gather radio dispatches from home.
``You come here because you're expected to make a difference, almost right away,'' said Faccinto, the electrician. ``If you don't, you hold everyone back.
``Where else in the world can someone as young as I am be tasked with something so big? Not many 21-year-olds have worked on a nuclear reactor.''
At 3 a.m., eight hours after submerging, the submarine returns to the surface to begin the long trek back to the pier in Norfolk.
This was a short week at sea, a work-up designed for drills and tests. At the end of July, the crew members will leave for three months. They're not likely to surface during that time.
It's a Norfolk-to-Norfolk deployment, they joke.
``I've been doing this for 14 years,'' said John Talbott, 31, a machinist's mate. ``My job is to get the boat where the boat needs to go.
``You don't really know day from night. It sort of just blends in. When I'm asleep, I'm not here. I don't dream about the boat. I'm at home with my kids.'' ILLUSTRATION: [Color Photo]
VICKI CRONIS
Staff photos
The crew of the submarine Norfolk load torpedos by hydraulics. On a
sub, space is at a premium. Even the torpedo room is crammed with
beds. Sailors sleep next to the long, round weapons.
At the end of July, the Norfolk and its crew will leave for a
three-month deployment. They're not likely to surface until they
return.
VICKI CRONIS
Staff
Michael Helton is a sonar technician first class and a sonar room
supervisor aboard the submarine Norfolk. Sonar, he points out, is
the eyes and ears of a submarine.
by CNB