A Navy Story-Part 2
A peak into life at Submarine School
January 2011-January 2012
The time is 0955. Barracks inspection at 1000. Some guys hurry and throw trash bags out the window. There were some bushes in the back you could go pick it up later. Another guy runs down the hallway dual wielding air fresheners, spraying a trail of “hope we pass”. Our rooms are periodically checked by the instructors for cleanliness and attention to detail. It’s easy to pass, but it’s easy to fail. All of us had spent the morning detailing our spaces. We do a last-minute scan of the room and quick shine rub on our boots. Then stand to attention along the wall as we hear the elevator bell signaling the arrival of the PO’s. When they came to our room, we would reposition next to our racks. They would then sweep the area. Top to bottom. Bright flashlights… “Thoel what the f*ck is this?!”, demanded STS2. He had rubbed his finger across the top of the shower sliding door and had collected a couple dust particles. “No excuses Petty Officer!” He looked at me with colossal disappointment. After a long moment of intense silence, STS2 announces that we pass but we have to do better next time. As the door closes my roommate says “F*ck this shit!”, takes off his uniform, throws it all in a heap on the floor and turns on some Call of Duty: Zombies. Some rooms actually failed, and they had extra cleaning to do. I was not in the mood for that.
Later at duty section muster: “You fall asleep on watch! You get people killed! You sleep on watch you kill everybody!”, yelled RP2, our Duty PO. One of our Shipmates had Elevator Watch and was taking a nap when he was discovered by our Cream of the Crop. RP2 had done some extensive deployments in the Middle East and sported a plate full of ribbons. Sometimes it was hard to take him seriously though with his stereotypical Asian accent. The guilty individual was paraded front and center of formation. All of us at attention, like statues. With RP2 red in the face he yells: “You see all these men?! They’re all dead because of you! I hope I don’t deploy with you I got a life to live! Nobody in my Navy falls asleep while on f*cking watch!” Suddenly someone from the Off Duty Section on the top floor of the barracks started blasting “Never Gonna Give You Up” by Rick Astley. RP2 looks up in fury “Who the f*ck is that?! Shut that sh*t off I’m gonna find you!” I couldn’t help but break my stone face and laugh a little as he storms off and tells us dismissed.
Naval Submarine Base New London is located in Groton, Connecticut. It’s called the “Submarine Capital of The World.” It’s the center for training and schooling required for the various rates(jobs) in this profession. Some people consider this place prestigious. Others would disagree. “Rotten Groton”, is the nickname. I remember the first night we arrived here after graduating Boot Camp. Walking onto the Quarterdeck(reception) of the barracks, all the dudes of course have to give us new guys sh*t. “Ohhhhh if you f*ckin boots thought Basic was hard just wait!” Checking into the room there were three of us. The other two were really chill and nearing the end of their training. They tell me about how the base is surrounded by car dealerships, a strip club, and ghetto bars.
I was in the Submarine Electronics Computer Field (SECF). This program branches off into different rates such as Sonar, Fire Control, and Electronics Technician. It is one year long and will involve us passing many tests, trials, and tribulations before we graduate and go to the Fleet. It doesn’t end there; more qualifications have to be earned before we can truly call ourselves Submariners. A long road ahead, but tomorrow is day one.
Most school buildings are up on a hill. We will be getting some quality walking on this base. Our training is split into 4 sections. Basic Enlisted Submarine School, Advanced Technical Training, Tactical Computer Network Operator, and then our specified rate school. I chose Sonar because of the movies. When we enter the Quarterdeck, we show our IDs to the Petty Officer of the Deck. A practice set up for standing watch on the boat. The POOD is stuck in a robotic motion of endless salutes and “Come Aboard!” as hundreds of students pass through. Entering the hall, us newbies are only allowed to walk along the edges, hugging the wall and doing proper facing movements at corners. The middle is reserved for qualified and/or higher-ranking individuals only. Same rules for the elevator. We take the stairs. On the wall as we enter, I remember a giant map of the world. I would attempt walking a little slower to get a few more seconds of looking at it. I could not help but stare at Mongolia, and its unique name for a capital: Ulaanbaatar. I would feel an adrenaline surge just whispering that name and imagining what it would be like to go all the way over there. As I continued on, I knew in that moment that the seed was planted, and my conviction solidified. I couldn’t believe just 5 years later I made that dream come true (a future article).
Sitting down in class, when the instructor arrives, someone calls out “Feet!”, we all jump to attention and yell “SUBMARINES!” The PO glares at us for a moment, orders “Seats.”, to which we reply “Seats, aye!”. The lesson(s) would begin. I remember a guy in our class, he asked: “So if the Submarine doesn’t have windows, how do we see where we are going?” I know some of you may be thinking that’s a legitimate question, but no. It’s a really stupid one. He did not pass BESS.
Today is Flooding Training. In the event of damage and water starts coming in there are some measures we can implement. They placed us in this room full of pipes at various heights. When the training commenced, pressurized water would blast in, and we had to act fast. There were a couple Damage Control Lockers full of wooden chocks, rubber mats, and some steel tie downs. We would take these items and jam them into the holes or fissures across the pipes. One pipe had a large gash, which took teamwork to wrap the mat around, water spraying all over us. In just a few minutes we were wading through and even had to dunk our heads underwater to plug some gaps. After this first time in the scenario, the instructor had to stop and yell at us, proclaiming that we had all “drowned”. The water was cold, and we were shivering, even our hands felt slightly immobilized. We would get the honor of trying not to drown a second time…We got it, but just barely. I thought the training was a bit archaic. Perhaps in the WWII days, these wooden chocks would work great. However, with today’s technology, it’s most likely game over.
Below is an old documentary of the training. Same room and set up I went through. Makes me laugh now:
On Thursday is All Hands Call. Every class would form up and march down the main road across base to the theater aka the Dealey Center. A dozen columns like a human centipede. I always thought marching was pretty cool. When you get in step and synchronized you move as one. Each class would sing their own cadence. Down the hill we go, our various songs and slamming of boots echoing off some of the buildings. Once neatly formed up in front of the theater, we would peel off in a single file to take our seats. The top-ranking officials of Sub School and the base would come talk to us. Various news updates, questions, and Hoo-Yah’s.
Free time, or Liberty as we would call it was in a tiered system. White, Yellow, and Blue Cards. White had daily curfew and distance restrictions. Yellow was slightly more time and distance, and Blue being relatively free to come and go. Of course, any f*ck ups would set you back, or even put you in restriction. Living under the Navy’s version of House Arrest was not on my bucket list.
Several months in we were given the esteemed Blue Cards. A group of us decided it would be a good idea to wear our dress whites to the clubs in New York. Being confined on a base with all dudes for months on end would get to any young man’s mind. “Broooo these uniforms are chick magnets bro!” I was the designated driver, being 19 at the time. The others began pregaming with a couple bottles on the 2hr drive from Connecticut. After navigating terrible Manhattan traffic, we park and go to Pacha NYC on 46th and 11th. Some in the group were already far from sober, but management let us cut the line and in for free. One guy standing in line yelled out “Yo who do I gotta suck off to get a popeye costume like yours?!”
Once in the guys slammed quite a few shots and then we hit the dance floor with high hopes, but the rush didn’t last for long. One guy was talking to a girl, who may or may not have had a boyfriend. Either way, this dude comes up and throws a cranberry vodka on his dress whites and a brawl breaks out. We rush in to split them up as I see my buddy’s nose get hit dead center and blood splattered across us. The bouncers push us apart and we take a seat in a booth for a moment to collect ourselves. You can’t calm an angry drunk man down. After many minutes of yelling about what happened, we decide its best to leave. Now the alcohol was taking serious affect, and I have to help walk them out.
One in our group was so wasted he stumbled and fell onto the dirty NY street. Black gutter water streaked across half his uniform. My broken nose companion was holding his neckerchief as it somehow been torn, while his other hand tried to stop more blood dripping down onto his shirt. The street was full of people, and I avoided eye contact with all of them. Back in the car I peeled out of the city as fast I could. An incredible sunrise began as we were driving on I-95 through New Haven. I thought the drama was over when suddenly I smelled vomit in the car. I glance at the rear-view mirror and see sludge pouring down onto our VIPs lap. Pulling out to the shoulder, he wasn’t the only one who had to vacate the contents in their stomach. At least it wasn’t my car.
Finally arriving at the barracks, I’m met with a gut-wrenching view: Duty Section Muster. Everybody in formation, with Chief yelling morale into them. Begrudgingly I drag this guy out, arm over shoulder, filth and all and half step our way towards the Quarterdeck. I can feel all eyes on us when Chief went more silent than death itself. A few whispered laughs and a massive air of “WTF?” In my peripherals I can see Chiefs hands on hips in a power pose. Locked in. But he said nothing (for now). Perhaps the public shame was enough, I thought. The POOD looked at us in similar shock, and with a shake of his head he saluted “Come Aboard.” Later those guys ended up on restriction, but I was spared as I had remained sober and got everyone back.
Moving on…
One day, we were informed that a hurricane was making its way up the east coast and posed a threat to the base. I don’t remember which one. We were voluntold to stack sandbags just in case. To be honest I thought we all had a blast, daisy-chaining one bag after the other all day. By the time the hurricane reached us, it had regressed into a thick rain. I think the higher-ups just wanted to keep us busy. For privacy's sake I won’t mention names or show faces of the guys I served with, but we had a good group.
Can you believe that there is classified math? I couldn’t either. But while in training the formulas and process we use to track contacts while out at sea is apparently sensitive to national security. However now the computers do all the heavy thinking, and the old school way of tracking like in the movies I would say has somewhat died out. Just push a button now and the system locks on. It was incredibly interesting learning the science behind how sound operates underwater. How the environment changes the sound waves and what we have to do to accurately trace whatever we detect out there. I barely passed to be honest. The final exams were quite difficult, but in the end, I finished with the rest, got my certificate and soon the next chapter would begin…
I could go on for ages about A-School, but I have to spread my content out. Can’t tell you everything in one article. In other news I’ve been quite busy with my current job and haven’t posted on Substack for a long time. Thanks to all subscribers who stick around. I look forward to telling you more stories and greatly appreciate your patience. Many more stories to come.
Thats it for now. I’m still here and will continue posting. I’ll try not to let a couple months go by before the next article is published, but life happens. Takecare and I’ll see you later!
-AbroadwithBrian