Empire Rising

“Raising Number Two scope.”

Standing on the Conn in the submarine’s Control Room, Lieutenant Steve Cordero lifted both hands in the darkness, grabbing the periscope ring above his head, rotating it clockwise. Although he couldn’t see the scope as it slid silently up from its well, he knew the handles would emerge in three seconds. Dropping his hands, he held them out near his waist on each side of the scope until the top of the periscope handles hit his palms. He snapped the handles down and pressed his face against the eyepiece as the scope finished its ascent, checking the periscope settings. He twisted his right hand forward, verifying the periscope was set on low power. With a flick of his left wrist, he rotated the handle backward, tilting the scope optics skyward. But there was only darkness.

Cordero called out to the microphone in the overhead, “All stations, Conn. Proceeding to periscope depth.” Sonar, Radio, and the Quartermaster acknowledged the Officer of the Deck’s order, then Cordero followed up, “Dive, make your depth eight-zero feet.”

The Diving Officer repeated Cordero’s order, then directed the two watchstanders in front of him, “Ten up. Full rise fairwater planes.”

The watchstander on the left pulled his yoke back, and five hundred feet behind them, the control surfaces on the submarine’s stern rotated, pushing the stern down until the ship was tilted upward at a ten-degree angle. To the Dive’s right, the Helm also pulled the yoke back, pitching the control surfaces on the submarine’s conning tower, or sail as it was commonly called, to full rise.

“Passing one-five-zero feet,” the Dive called out. USS Michigan was rising toward the surface.

Years ago, Cordero would have rotated on the periscope during the ascent. But protocols had changed. Peering into the periscope eyepiece, he looked straight ahead, up into the dark water, scanning for evidence of ships above, their navigation lights reflecting on the ocean’s surface.

As Michigan ascended through the black water, aside from the Dive’s reports, it was silent in Control. There would be no conversation until the periscope broke the surface and the Officer of the Deck called out No close contacts or Emergency Deep. Like the rest of the watchstanders in Control, Cordero knew their submarine was vulnerable during its ascent to periscope depth. A few years earlier, transiting these same waters, USS Hartford had collided with USS New Orleans during the submarine’s ascent to periscope depth, almost ripping the sail from the top of the submarine.

With a submerged displacement of eighteen thousand tons, Michigan was less maneuverable than the nimble fast attacks. The former ballistic missile submarine was almost two football fields long, seven stories tall, and wide as a three-lane highway. Converted into a guided missile submarine, Michigan was now capable of carrying 154 Tomahawk cruise missiles, loaded in twenty-two of its twenty-four missile tubes, with the remaining two tubes converted into access hatches to two Dry Deck Shelters attached to the submarine’s Missile Deck. Within each DDS rested a SEAL Delivery Vehicle—a mini-sub capable of transporting Navy SEALs miles underwater for clandestine operations. Aboard Michigan, in berthing installed in the Missile Compartment during its conversion, slept four platoons of Navy SEALs, ready should their services be required.

Their services wouldn’t be necessary tonight. This was just a routine journey to periscope depth. As Michigan rose toward the surface, Cordero couldn’t see the submarine’s Commanding Officer, Captain Murray Wilson, in the darkness, but he felt his presence. Sitting on the starboard side of the Conn in the Captain’s chair, Wilson monitored his submarine’s ascent. There was heavy traffic in the narrow Strait of Hormuz tonight as the ship began its long transit home to Bangor, Washington, in the Pacific Northwest.

It was from Delta Pier in Hood Canal that Captain Wilson had cast off lines three months ago, leading Michigan west. This was Wilson’s first deployment aboard Michigan. Cordero and the rest of the officers in the Wardroom had been surprised when Wilson had been assigned as their new Commanding Officer. Captain Murray Wilson, the most senior captain in the Submarine Force, had already commanded the fast attack submarine USS Buffalo and had just completed an assignment as the senior Submarine Command Course instructor, preparing officers for command. Rumor held he played a pivotal role in the Kentucky incident, selected for Rear Admiral as a result. But he had supposedly turned down flag rank, choosing to end his career at sea.

It didn’t take long for Cordero and the rest of the crew aboard Michigan to appreciate the breadth and depth of the Captain’s experience. However, they were perplexed when he ordered an indirect path for their journey to the Persian Gulf, forcing them to transit at a higher than desirable speed. The crew soon realized the deviation was made with the sole purpose of passing through a specific point on the chart. When they reached the prescribed spot, Wilson ordered the Quartermaster to activate their Fathomer, sending one ping down toward the ocean bottom. As Captain Wilson sat in the shadows on the submarine’s Conn, Cordero could see the moisture glistening in the older man’s eyes as they passed over the watery grave of HMAS Collins.

That was three months ago and they were now headed home, ascending to periscope depth to download the radio broadcast. As Cordero peered up through the black water, a small wavering disc of light appeared in the distance, growing slowly larger; the moon’s blue-white reflection on the ocean’s surface. The Dive called out the submarine’s depth in ten-foot increments, and Cordero gradually rotated his left wrist back to its original position, tilting the scope optics down toward the horizon. As the Dive called out eight-zero feet, the scope broke the surface of the water and Cordero began his circular sweeps, searching for nearby contacts—quiet warships or deep-draft merchants bearing down on them as Michigan glided slowly at periscope depth.

After assessing the half-dozen white lights on the horizon, Cordero called out the report everyone in Control was hoping for.

“No close contacts!”

Conversation in control resumed, with the Dive and Chief of the Watch adjusting the submarine’s buoyancy to keep it a tad heavy, so the passing ocean swells wouldn’t suck the submarine up to the surface.

Radio’s report over the 27-MC communication system broke the subdued conversations in Control. “Conn, Radio. In sync with the broadcast. Receiving message traffic.”

The Quartermaster followed with his expected report, “GPS fix received.”

Cordero acknowledged Radio and the Quartermaster, then after the usual two-minute wait, Radio confirmed Michigan had received the latest round of naval messages. “Conn, Radio. Download complete.”

They had accomplished the two objectives for their trip to periscope depth, so Cordero ordered Michigan back to the safety of the ocean depths. “All stations, Conn. Going deep. Helm, ahead two-thirds. Dive, make your depth two hundred feet.”

Each station acknowledged and Michigan tilted downward, leaving periscope depth behind. “Scope’s under,” Cordero announced, then turned the periscope until it looked forward and snapped the handles back to their folded positions. Reaching up, he rotated the periscope ring counterclockwise, lowering the scope into its well.

The lights in Control flicked on, shifting from Rig-for-Black to Gray, allowing everyone’s eyes to adjust, then shifted to White a moment later. As Michigan leveled off at two hundred feet, a Radioman entered Control, message board in hand, delivering the clipboard to the submarine’s Commanding Officer. Captain Wilson reviewed the messages, then handed the board to Cordero.

“Change in plans,” Wilson said. “We’re taking a detour on the way home.”

Wilson surveyed the men in Control before adding, “Come down to five hundred feet. Increase speed to ahead flank.”