The Trident Deception (24 page)

Gallagher looked up as the lights in Control flickered. The Electrical Operator in Maneuvering had apparently just split the electrical buses, isolating the turbine generators from the motor generators and the essential electrical loads they carried. A second later, the Engine Order Telegraph, normally controlled by the pilot, shifted to all stop. The explanation came across the 7-MC a moment later.

“Conn, Maneuvering. Reactor scram.”

Gallagher stared at his XO in disbelief. The reactor had been instantaneously shut down by the reactor plant’s protection circuitry, driving the control rods to the bottom of the core in less than a millisecond. In twenty years aboard nuclear-powered submarines, not once had he experienced an unexpected scram. They trained for the fault constantly—verifying watchstanders knew the appropriate actions—but Gallagher had never seen it occur outside of a training exercise. The core was no longer generating heat. And without heat, there was no steam for the submarine’s turbine generators or main engines.

The
North Carolina
had just lost propulsion and was now coasting to a stop as she cut across their target’s path eight thousand yards ahead. Without propulsion and the ability to evade a counterfired torpedo, they were a sitting duck. Once their target detected the
North Carolina
’s torpedo launch, it would return fire down the line of bearing of the incoming torpedo, right down their throat. Without propulsion, the
North Carolina
would not engage its target unless it was fired upon first.

Even worse, the
North Carolina
was coasting to a stop directly in front of their target. Their target would close to within a thousand yards, and the
North Carolina
would almost surely be detected. If the reactor wasn’t back up before then, they would be in trouble. Deep trouble.

If the watch section in the Engine Room quickly identified and corrected the fault, they could commence an emergency reactor restart, bringing the reactor back into the power range in a matter of minutes. If not, they’d be defenseless, unable to evade an incoming torpedo. They might take out their target, but there would be no hope for the
North Carolina
. Everything hinged on whether they could quickly identify and correct the problem.

The report over the 7-MC answered that essential question. “Conn, Maneuvering. Dropped control rod. No fault found. Unable to commence Fast Recovery Start-up.”

Gallagher shook his head, his disbelief turning to frustration.

Un-fucking-believable
.

They had been only seconds away from launching their MK 48 torpedo. Had the reactor stayed up a minute longer, their target would have been sunk. But now, without propulsion, the
North Carolina
could not fire. After the Officer of the Deck acknowledged Maneuvering’s report over the 7-MC, Gallagher terminated the pending torpedo launch. “Check Fire. Continue tracking Sierra five-seven.”

He debated whether to stay in Control or head aft to assess the situation. The ship was at Battle Stations and his place was in Control, guiding them as they engaged in combat. But they could not prosecute the target until the reactor returned to power. And the
North Carolina
itself would soon be in peril if the fast-attack submarine was still powerless when their target passed by.

They had to get the reactor back up. And fast.

Gallagher decided to head aft, transferring the Conn back to the Officer of the Deck. Before departing Control, he ordered his OOD, “Inform me immediately if the target maneuvers.”

USS
KENTUCKY

Malone pressed the headphones against his ears as DelGreco played the recording. The sonar techs were right—it was definitely a mechanical transient. He had never heard this type of sound before, but his instinct told him there was something important about it. That DelGreco had thought enough about the unusual sound to bring it to his attention meant there was potentially something there; something worth investigating.

“Good ears, DelGreco,” Malone said as he handed the headphones back. “Tell you what. We’ll slow down to five knots and see if we hear anything else. Sound like a plan?”

“Sure does, Captain.” DelGreco placed the headphones around his ears, returning his attention to the sonar displays.

Malone stepped out of the sonar shack and approached Tom, sitting on the Conn. “Sonar picked up some unusual mechanical transients. Slow to ahead one-third so we can perform a better search.”

Tom acknowledged the Captain’s order, then relayed it to the Helm. Gradually, the
Kentucky
slowed to five knots, reducing the flow noise of the water passing over the hull and past the towed array hydrophones.

USS
NORTH CAROLINA

As Gallagher approached the watertight door leading into the Reactor Compartment passageway, two reactor technicians assigned to the Forward Damage Control Team during Battle Stations raced past him. Grabbing the handle above the door without slowing, they launched themselves through the hatch feetfirst on their way aft to join the rest of their division. Gallagher followed them through the RC passageway and into the Engine Room, where the machinist mates were busy shutting it down, securing the steam loads on the reactor plant to keep it hot.

Keeping the
North Carolina
’s reactor hot was imperative. In its simplest terms, the submarine’s reactor was just a sophisticated teakettle, generating the steam required to power the ship’s engines and electrical turbine generators. Keeping the reactor hot, conserving its stored energy, was an essential casualty response to an unexpected reactor shutdown. Unless the steam loads were quickly secured, within a few minutes the reactor would cool to the point where it could no longer generate steam, and without steam, the ship had no emergency propulsion.

The throttles were already shut, stopping the largest heat drain on the plant, but the two electrical turbine generators were still spinning, draining heat from the core. The steam-driven generators would stay operational, providing the ship with power until electrical loads were reduced low enough for the battery to take over. Throughout the submarine, the crew rigged the ship for Reduced Electrical Power, securing pumps, motors, and electronic consoles, crippling the fast-attack submarine even more than when the main engine throttles had been shut.

How long his submarine would remain crippled was the question. Gallagher stopped next to his Engineer, standing between two rows of cabinets containing the computerized reactor control circuitry. The indicator light for rod 2-3 glowed an ominous red, and the Engineer quickly informed Gallagher they had been unable to relatch the wayward rod. The Reactor Controls Chief and two RC Division petty officers were huddled around a time domain reflectometer, which sent light pulses down electrical cables and measured the time it took for the light to travel to the end and reflect back. Cables ran from the TDR to the Control Rod Drive Motor cabinet.

The chief looked up. “There’s a break in the wiring between the rod control cabinet and the reactor core, at the fifty-foot point.” Laying a schematic on top of the TDR, the chief traced his finger along the diagram. “Which puts the break right here. Directly on top of the reactor core, where it connects to the rod latching mechanism.”

The Engineer exchanged glances with Gallagher as the Reactor Controls Chief continued. “We’re going to have to enter the Reactor Compartment to fix it, if it’s repairable at all. We won’t know until we get in there. The only other option we have is to bring the reactor back up with the rod still on the bottom, but we’ll be limited to thirty percent power.”

Gallagher contemplated the chief’s suggestion. The inherent stability of the submarine’s nuclear reactor now worked against them. If the nuclear reaction in any part of the core increased or decreased, the rest of the core immediately compensated, maintaining overall core flux at an equilibrium level. With a rod on the bottom and the surrounding fuel cells shut down, the unaffected fuel cells would exceed their temperature limits if the crew tried to bring the reactor up to full power.

While the purpose of the reactor was to generate heat, it was vital the reactor be kept from getting too hot. It was protected by sophisticated automatic protection circuitry constantly monitoring the condition of the core, and also by the operating procedures the crew was trained to follow. If the guidelines were violated and the reactor operated outside its design parameters, the core could overheat. If the core overheated and the uranium melted through the fuel cells’ protective cladding and into the reactor cooling system, massive amounts of radiation would be released, overwhelming the primary and secondary radiation shields protecting the crew. And if the increasing temperature within the core wasn’t reversed by the reactor’s cooling systems, the ultimate catastrophe would occur—a complete core meltdown.

If they brought the reactor back up with a dropped rod, they would have to limit power to ensure the core didn’t overheat. Gallagher converted the 30 percent power to speed in his head; they would barely be able to achieve ahead standard. If they had to evade a torpedo, ahead standard wouldn’t cut it. The only way they could engage their target and survive was to complete the repair and restore the reactor to full power.

Eight minutes had already passed since the reactor scrammed, meaning their target would pass within a thousand yards in fifteen minutes. That wasn’t enough time.

As Gallagher weighed his options, the ICSAP circuit next to him activated. He picked up the handset. The OOD was on the other end; their target had maneuvered, slowing to five knots, and it would now be thirty minutes before their target crossed their path. Just enough time, perhaps, to complete the repair.

Gallagher turned to his Engineer. “Enter the Reactor Compartment.”

37

USS
NORTH CAROLINA
USS
KENTUCKY

USS
NORTH CAROLINA

Joseph Radek, the Reactor Controls Division Chief, waited in the Reactor Compartment passageway, already sweating in the head-to-toe yellow anticontamination clothing he had hastily donned. Next to him, an engineering laboratory technician spun the hand wheel, the RC door creaking slowly inward in response. A blast of heat hit Chief Radek in the face as the door cracked open and the ELT paused, poking the suction tube connected to the portable air sampler into the RC to check for airborne radioactivity. As Radek waited for a report, he tried to hide his nervousness; neither he, nor anyone else aboard the
North Carolina,
had ever entered the Reactor Compartment at sea.

Entry into the RC was not allowed when the reactor was operating—the radiation level was too high. A nuclear-powered submarine never deliberately shut down its reactor at sea, except temporarily while simulating casualties or, in rare instances, like now, when repairs were required. The reactor had been shut down for only a few minutes, and the radioactive by-products of the nuclear reactions were still sizzling inside the core, emitting high levels of neutrons and gamma rays. Radek held his digital pocket dosimeter up to his eye to verify it had been set to zero; he could remain inside only twelve minutes before he exceeded his exposure limit.

Radek didn’t know which he feared more—the radiation or the heat. The
North Carolina
had been running at ahead flank for twenty-eight hours and intermittently at ahead full for the last four, the reactor generating an enormous amount of heat during that time. The air inside the Reactor Compartment was blisteringly hot, hovering at 160 degrees Fahrenheit. It would hopefully be a dry heat, Radek thought to himself to lighten the situation. But with his body sealed in yellow plastic along with rubber boots and gloves, only his face exposed, he figured he would soon know what a pork roast felt like in a Crock-Pot.

Standing next to Chief Radek, also dressed in the yellow protective clothing, was Mike Tell, his leading first class petty officer. The two men would enter the RC together, simultaneously disassembling the top of the control rod drive mechanism to allow access to the end of the cable run, quickly reassembling it after the repair to the wire underneath. If all went well, the whole process would last ten minutes, leaving fifteen minutes to restart the reactor and restore propulsion.

The ELT finished opening the door and locked it in place, stepping to the back of the Control Point, providing a path for Radek and Tell. Radek turned to the Control Point Watch, another ELT who controlled entry and exit from the RC. “Request permission to enter the Reactor Compartment.”

“Enter,” the ELT replied.

Radek took a deep breath and stepped inside.

*   *   *

It felt like he had entered a furnace; the heat was almost suffocating in its intensity. Radek paused, trying to acclimate himself to the scorching heat before he climbed the ladder to upper level, where the top of the reactor protruded through the deck. Petty Officer Tell joined him, likewise stunned by the stifling heat. Radek breathed alternately through his nose and his mouth, attempting to discern which was less uncomfortable, finally settling on the nose; his tongue dried almost instantly when he tried to breathe through his mouth.

Radek grabbed the metal rungs on the ladder, a small pouch of tools gripped in his right hand. The rubber gloves and shoes made the trip treacherous, his feet sometimes slipping off the thin rungs. He kept a firm grip on his bag of tools. Submarine sonars were sensitive, and a metal tool dropped onto a deck or bilge could be heard for miles, giving away their presence. He could feel the heat through his thick gloves, and when he was halfway up the ladder, the hot metal became uncomfortable to hold. By the time Radek reached upper level, breathing had become an almost impossible chore. As Tell finished climbing the ladder behind him, Radek moved toward the top of the reactor vessel, his eyes following the cable run where it penetrated the Reactor Compartment, splitting into the individual cables leading to the control rod drive mechanisms on top of the reactor.