As you stand atop the ballistic missile doors of a nuclear-powered submarine it suddenly occurs to you … I’M STANDING ATOP THE MISSILE DOORS OF A NUCLEAR-POWERED SUBMARINE!!!
And the shock is almost enough to send you jumping into the water. Well, if not for the patrol boat down there with the front and back 50-caliber machine guns.
But the thought of 24 Trident intercontinental missiles sitting just below your tennis shoes will send a shiver down your spine and get your teeth a chattering. I think I chipped one.
The back story: I got the chance this past weekend to tour the USS Alaska, which calls Kings Bay Naval Submarine Base in Georgia home. He’s a big boy, that Alaska.
It was commissioned back in 1986, has a nuclear reactor on board to drive its mighty propeller and, at 560 feet, is almost two football fields long.
You don’t realize how big a modern-day sub is through photos. Even standing on shore, only about a third of the boat pokes up out of the water. But as you climb down into its belly, clutching a perilous ladder that connects all four decks, you understand very quickly its massive scale.
I got to take the tour thanks to the St. Augustine Navy League, which invited a cohort of mine named Barry Sand. Barry, a former executive producer for David Letterman, teaches at Flagler College where I’ve been lucky enough to team up with him on various projects. And I’m also smart enough to know when Barry calls, you answer! A couple of years back he got us on a flight to an aircraft carrier where we spent the night and watched flight operations.
It’s like being a kid again when he calls: “Hey Brian,” the voice on the other end of the line asked me. “You want to go tour a nuclear-powered sub?”
Really? Hold on while I go ask my mom.
So off we went to see the sleek black sea monster — like a giant metallic whale complete with bad attitude and warheads jammed down his blowhole. I’ve been aboard World War II-era subs before. They were big boilers with propellers. A jumble of pipes and dials crammed in what must have been a miserable experience for the crew.
But the modern nuclear-powered submarine is a marvel — a technological wonder that is like climbing through a space station. You need air when you’re underwater, so they make their own. Everywhere there are switches and computers and little scary signs that say things akin to: “Do this and your head will explode.”
When you get to the bottom of that ladder, you pop out in a forest of ballistic missile tubes. Tucked inside the metallic cocoons sleep the Tridents, which stand 44 feet tall, weigh 130,000 pounds, fly 4,600 miles and cost, oh, somewhere in the neighborhood of $30 million each. “Sleep tight, little buddies,” I whispered while tip-toeing by. Never disturb a sleeping intercontinental ballistic missile.
“Do they carry nuclear warheads?” someone inevitably asked. The cool answer everyone on board is well-trained to tell you is this: “I can neither confirm nor deny that.” The cold, sea chill runs down your spine again.
And again when you inadvertently lean your arm against a torpedo. I still can’t believe I did that. There were four green ones in the torpedo room, which is tucked in the bow of the boat. They looked angry to me, and antsy. They sit on racks and wait. I petted one.
About 150 dedicated, bright and incredibly focused crewmen live, work and prowl the seas in sleek, floating cigar tubes like the Alaska. This is a job for the brave, and thank goodness someone does it. I don’t think I could.
On average, they go about 77 days and much of that might be below the surface. Mind you, this is no cruise ship. It’s tight quarters. Even the captain sleeps in a space smaller than my bedroom closet. There isn’t a porthole to be found, and the only way you’re going to see daylight is by closing your eyes and dreaming of home. That is, if there is room to close your eyes. The enlisted men sleep in bunks about the size of an economy fridge nestled amongst the missile tubes.
I thought a great bumper sticker for submariners would be, “I sleep with nuclear missiles (not that I can confirm or deny it.)” Maybe I should make them one and they could put it on those terrifying missile doors.