The Discovery
Mark Casey made his way up the starboard ladder to the operations room from which the various contractors conducted their experiments and tests. He had a computer, a desk and a filing cabinet like the other seven guests on the ship. They were not members of the crew but paying passengers with some scientific purpose. Woods Hole, like several other institutions, had oceanographic research ships capable of blue water ocean activity, which were very expensive to operate. So, various institutions and manufacturers of oceanographic equipment and the like would share the costs of operating the ship so that they could conduct their particular open ocean activity.
After breakfast he would check his emails and then follow his plan for the day. Time was very costly in such an arrangement, so he typically put in 14-hour days. Since there was nothing else to do aboard this ship but eat, work and sleep, 14-hour days were the norm. Part of each day was often spent waiting and watching while other experiments were conducted.
On this cruise there were two men from Scripps Institution of Oceanography doing something involving the continental shelf which they could only do off the East Coast; a meteorologist from Stanford; three guys and a woman, sponsored by the Smithsonian, studying the effects of oil industry seismic exploration on marine mammals, and, of course himself. He had written new software for underwater remotely operated vehicles (ROVs), which he could only test at sea. He hoped it would improve both maneuvering and the use of the manipulator arms. His company made these vehicles, which were structurally and mechanically pretty effective, but a bit limited in their actual use. This naturally affected the Navy's and oil industry's interest. He thought he had figured out a way to make these ROVs, particularly the tethered ones, more effective through software modifications. His particular test day was two days away.
Several emails were from his girlfriend, some of it was spam and the last one was from his boss in Baltimore;
Mark. We have been requested, as a favor, to investigate what is presumed to be an object, which happens to lie on the bottom near your ship's course back to Norfolk. Our Navy friends at the Blockhouse have a location of what they believe to have been either an explosion, or an implosion. Their SOSUS hydrophones recorded, three days ago, something far exceeding their usual energy threshold. As you know, they record everything, but the stuff that exceeds the normal activity is flagged for closer scrutiny. They have eliminated all the usual suspects of maritime traffic blade counts, seismic sub-bottom profiling, etc. They lean toward an implosion at this point, which is probably more hunch than data. This event does not correspond to any Navy activity in the area of the sound. No submarines were in the area, and besides, all their boats are accounted for. There is a remote possibility that it was a foreign sub but they think that is doubtful. They ran the sound pattern against their data base profiles of all sorts of sounds, and the closest match was the sound from U.S.S. Scorpion imploding, which is a pretty grim thought when you think about it. I'm sure they never wanted to hear that sound again L.
What we need is a side scan sonar search to see if we can locate and then identify the source then let me know what develops. Do you think you can prevail on the Scripps people to help out on this one? Aren't they using side scan sonar for their project? I seem to remember that.
Get back to me so I can let our friends know what's up. They have been good to us and maybe they'll buy your new stuff.
Bob Patton
Mark thought how peculiar it was to have a boss like Patton who was phobic about being underwater and yet he was in a business associated with diving, ROVs, submarines and other underwater stuff. Personally, he would love be a diver or operate a manned underwater vehicle - instead he had somehow gotten on the software tract. He thought there was practically not much difference between what he was doing and writing an accounts payable program for Eetna or State Farm Insurance. He was close to the action and yet miles away. The best lecture in his entire college career was about, of all things, debris fields given by a world-renowned oceanographer named Don Walsh. He could nearly recite the whole lecture - it was fascinating: debris fields are like a fingerprint of a disaster - the clues of what became of a sunken vessel. They are all different, yet they can tell us a lot about a sinking. Surface vessel's bulkheads are designed to withstand and hold back seawater at surface pressures. So when a surface vessel sinks, its bulkheads collapse at pretty shallow depths. The energy produced by the collapse spreads the compartment's contents around - throws it out into the surrounding sea where it all either floats up to the surface, or sinks to the bottom. In the case of a submarine, whose bulkheads are designed to withstand the considerable pressures of, say a depth of 900 feet or so, when they finally implode the energy released is huge. So, to begin with the first big distinction is the type of vessel that sinks.
Now when the contents of a compartment, which are heavier than water, start to sink, they sink at much different rates and that, Ladies and Gentlemen, is very significant. Take a T-shirt and a typewriter. The T-shirt is going to sink very slowly because it is not much heavier than water, plus it has a whole lot of drag. The typewriter is going to down almost like a rock. The key to the debris field is how long the stuff blown out of the compartment is in the current in that particular area and at that depth. If the current is one knot, the T-shirt is going to be influenced by that current far longer than the typewriter. If you imagine the shirt taking maybe a week to sink to, say 10,000 feet depth, while the typewriter maybe took 45 minutes, you can immediately see that a debris field will have the lightest stuff with the most drag at the farthest point and the heaviest stuff closest to the hull itself. Keep in mind that there are often cross currents at different depths so the fields do not always end up in a straight line.
Many places in the ocean have particularly swift currents. Straits and other narrow places where water is always moving fairly fast, are going to have fields spread out in length. That T-shirt we talked about is going to be way out there and may not even be in the field at all. On the other hand there are places, particularly in very deep water, where the debris will sink uninfluenced by anything except time. The T-shirt and that typewriter will be in close proximity on the bottom. The only difference is that shirt will take much longer to arrive.
Mark sat back in his chair and stretched, remembering how interesting Walsh's lecture was. One of the things he missed on these trips was a good run. He was a triathlete and was hooked on conditioning. Being at sea ten or twelve days threw his schedule off so much, that it took a few weeks to get back to normal. He thought to himself, 'I'll go find those two geeks from Scripps. They'll probably let me take a few passes at this 'object' with their side scan sonar. I'll have to bullshit them a bit, which shouldn't be too hard. What do they care? It's not going to cost them anything to let me use their gear. I can't believe they still use pocket protectors.' He started to laugh to himself. 'I wish it were that girl from the Smithsonian instead of these two. Man has she got legs. Damn! Those legs ought to be IN the Smithsonian instead of hanging off that outstanding tush she has working for her. Jesus! I've been at sea too long. How the hell do those sailors go to sea for so long anyway?'
Mark was surprised at how easily the two agreed to his use of their side scan sonar rig. He actually felt bad about his condescending thoughts toward them. It seems that part of their prior test was contaminated by something, and had to be done again anyway. "We've got to scan something, so it might as well be your 'object'. It will be fun, actually looking for something instead of just calibrating the equipment. We're actually on this afternoon. They squeezed us back into the schedule. Can we be over this thing this afternoon?"
Mark took his source's coordinates to the ship's master, told him the story so far, and asked if they would be over the source by mid-afternoon. The master did a quick look at the chart and said,
"Probably be about 1700 hours Mark. What are you going to need?"
"Ideally, I'd like to do a box search say, five miles by five miles. You know, just pass back and forth until we pick up the source."
"That's going to take more time than we've got. Can't you narrow it some? I'd agree to a three-mile box Mark. Will that do?"
By 2:30 AM Mark was feeling guilty about imposing upon the Scripps guys generosity with their side scan sonar. "God I feel bad about all this work you are doing for us. Can I do anything for you two? I really thought this would be a lot shorter search. Ten hours is a bitch. I'm really sorry."
"Hey, no problem. All we'd be doing is sleeping anyway. We got all our calibrating done hours ago though, but this is a good cause."
The two Scripps guys just looked at each other leaving Mark with the impression that they'd rather be in their bunks than staring at a green screen when the one at the console shouted, "HELLO." On the side scan sonar display, the unmistakable image of a WWII submarine appeared. Mark had two small buoys ready and he quickly went to the port side and dropped one over the side and came back to look at the screen. He thought the image was remarkable. It was very clear and they had gotten lucky in that they were almost perpendicular to the sub's port side. It was also clear that the sub was sitting on the bottom nearly upright. Another thing, which was clear and unmistakable, was the damage to the after part of the sub. All three of them said almost simultaneously, "DAMN, that's unbelievable!" Mark's enthusiasm was understandable since he really didn't have too much experience with this sonar stuff, but he was impressed that the two 'geeks' were wowed by the image and he felt doubly bad about his disparaging thoughts about these two. He stepped out of the room to the rail again and dropped the second buoy and headed for the bridge to inform the master. The buoys marked the course for the last pass.
"Hey, thanks so much you guys. Really, you were a lifesaver. I couldn't ask for better images then we've got. Can I email them to my boss right away?" He was very excited and hoped Bob Patton would be in the office early. He wanted to dive on this sub and get real pictures of her and maybe try to look down a hatch or something. He didn't have to wait long for a response to his email since Patton, 'Ever the optimist', had spent the night in his office
Mark. Nice Job! Those images are outstanding! I'm stunned! I didn't know those things were that good. I have just forwarded your email and attached images to our friends. I think they may ask us to get up close and personal with your vehicle. Surely they will want to know which sub that was, or if it was maybe a U-boat and not one of ours. Film everything. Don't hold back. Ask the captain if we can squeeze in some time. You can do it tonight since you don't need natural light, particularly at that depth. If it goes well with your software, then you can blow off the scheduled tests tomorrow or whenever they are. Let me know what he says and if it will involve more money. I doubt it will since you won't be using any more time really. Either way, I think we should explore the wreck. It will be a good test for your software anyway. Is the weather holding up?
Standby
Bob Patton
He was out on deck getting his vehicle prepared when Miss Smithsonian said,
"Hey Mark. I thought you were scheduled for tomorrow or the next day for that contraption." She was smiling at her little joke,
"We found a WWII sub down there an hour ago! They rescheduled me for this evening. I can do what I do in the dark." He thought he detected a little reaction and just a hint of a smile, which he found to be the most scintillating experience of the entire cruise.
"You ought to look at those images. They are fantastic! Go ask the Scripps guys if they'll let you look at them." Mark smiled and stared at her tight Patagonias as she walked forward, and thought, 'The chances that those two geeks from Scripps would not let a girl with a tush and legs like hers, particularly in today's little grape colored Patagonia standup shorts number, see their images, would be measured in exponential terms.'
Back in Norfolk the phone rang in Bob Patton's office,
"Patton."
"This is Captain Hurlocker over at SubLant. Our mutual friend Commander Wilson forwarded the images to us since it was a submarine. Does your man out there have a deep submergence vehicle aboard? Oh, and what is the depth of the boat? We know generally, but I'd like to know specifically."
"His other message said it was at 550 feet. He does have a vehicle aboard. In fact, that is why we are out on this trip, to test something. What do you want us to do here Captain?"
"Well, it's surprising really. We all stared at the images and knew right away that it was a Gato class boat. There is a retired guy who works up here as a volunteer a couple days a week - a former Chief of the Boat. Anyway he looked at the images, and went into our little library. He came back within 20 minutes and told us it was Cutterfish. Can you imagine? Apparently there were only four boats of that class with a particular modification, which we all missed entirely, but not this guy. The modification was clear in the images you sent. Two of the four boats survived the war and one was sunk off of Tulagi and - you guessed it - one was lost off the Mid-Atlantic coast in June 1942."
"Jesus! That gives me the creeps. I don't know how you guys go down in those things. It would scare the shit out of me! Has the Navy determined what made the sound you picked up?"
"The consensus is that the submarine sank in shallow enough water to have had a compartment survive. You know, not get crushed by the pressure. But after 50 years of corrosion, all that pressure, at that depth, finally caused the failure. Because of the lack of external damage forward, my guess is that one of the forward bulkheads failed as opposed to the pressure hull caving in. Had it been the pressure hull, the damage would have been very obvious in the side scan sonar images."
"Captain, I'm going to go ahead and tell my man, his name is Mark Casey by the way, to do what he can to sort of confirm your deduction, shoot plenty of tape, look around and maybe bring back a memento from the debris field. Maybe you can send him a nice 'Attaboy' letter when this is all done. He'd love that."
"I've got a better idea Bob. We'll take the both of you for a ride on a fast attack boat. You know, a day trip out of Norfolk for some 'angles and dangles'."
"No thanks Captain. I believe I'll be busy that particular day. But Mark would probably love to go."
"I didn't tell you which day we'd go out."
"I know."
The next email came in surprisingly fast. Mark couldn't believe how this thing was taking on a life of it's own;
Mark. Congratulations. This is really splendid work on your part and we are proud of you. I'll tell you what. The Navy is about to pee their pants at your discovery. I told them you'd send down the ROV (Remotely Operated Vehicle) and have a look. I even told them that you might bring back a memento from the boat. Maybe the debris field will still have something, although it feels a bit morbid, knowing that there must be 80 or 90 guys on that thing. Incidentally they deduced what the boat's name was, or rather is…I wonder how those guys view that stuff? U.S.S. Cutterfish is supposedly the name of the boat. See if you can confirm that although with 50 something years of saltwater, maybe you can't. The good thing is that they can close the case on this sub. From your pictures, they'll probably know just what sank her. That is a nice thing when you think about it. We're directly helping all those families put some closure on the death of a loved one. Probably not too many loved ones left though. Too bad it took this long.
Part Two of this is to see if you can tell what imploded to made that big noise. I think they may have already figured it out. Sounds like an intact compartment finally imploded after all these years. I know that 550 feet is deeper than the test depth of those old boats, but knowing the government, it is probably less than their crush depth. I'll bet you anything on that. The boat was hit by something obviously, but it evidentially had a compartment survive both the attack and when it hit the bottom. If you get enough tape, they'll be able to figure out a whole lot. Nice work!
Bob Patton
Mark was at the controls of the ROV just inside the main workroom the contractors used, and liked what he was seeing of his new software. He had not used the manipulator arms yet, but the directional control was clearly better. He was thinking about just how he was going to go to the head, when he saw the submarine over to the right. The systematic search for the boat had taken four and a half hours. The first view was the after part of the boat, which seemed badly damaged. As he moved forward up the starboard side, he noticed that the rest of the boat was in surprisingly good shape. He thought it must have sunk by the stern, and when the stern struck the bottom the forward part of the boat probably slammed against the sand. There were some parts of that round tank-like things near the forward torpedo room, which had sprung out, but otherwise it looked pretty sound. As he passed the side of the bridge he looked for a hull number but could not tell anything visually. He got close and panned up and down the length of the hull twice. Then he did the same for the sail and bridge area. His plan was to exit the area after taping every single square inch of this sub, and then go back down the debris field if he could find it, and bring the vehicle back up.
For some reason he stopped the ROV and stared at the forward room upper hatch. He wanted to test the new software as it related to the manipulator arms and said to himself, 'What the hell.' With that, he positioned the arm so he could grab the dog wheel in the center of the hatch and tried to move it. To his surprise, it moved easily, so he kept doing it until the hatch appeared to pop up a bit. He positioned the opposing arm under the lip of the hatch and moved it to the vertical. Then he moved the vehicle around to the other side of the boat where he noticed there were no lifelines to get tangled in, and got close enough to actually look into what he thought was the escape trunk submariners used to get out of their boats in an emergency. He expected to see rust and destruction, but what he saw was orderly but mouldy The room below was obviously flooded otherwise he could never have opened the hatch but otherwise everything he saw looked orderly - nothing like he expected a blown up sub to look like. Then he noticed the rusting, once battleship gray, metal toolbox and he knew he had his memento. He reached into the bottom of the escape trunk, barely making it given the length of the arms, and very carefully picked up the toolbox. He had a very strange feeling, which reminded him of Harrison Ford in Raiders of the Lost Arc. A feeling that he had something very special and sacred.
A Chief Petty Officer met the Woods Hole research ship at the pier in the commercial port of Newport News, and boarded her as soon as the brow went over to the pier. He did not salute or perform any of the formalities of a Navy ship. He thought to himself, 'These here are just a bunch of skimmers, and civilian skimmers to boot! Merchant ships give me the creeps. Full of goddamn foreigners. I can't wait to get off this ship.' Then he saw Miss Smithsonian in her khaki Patagonias and said, "Hmmmm." She had a tall civilian flat belly next to her with a toolbox that had to be what he came for.
"Chief Reader?"
"Yeah."
"I'm Mark Casey. Here is the tool box and the Cutterfish log I told my boss about."
Reader took the toolbox and started back down the brow saying nothing, when Mark shouted out, "Say, Chief. Take real good care of that log, will you?"
Reader waved over his back and said "Yeah sure." He got into the 'duty, gray pickup truck' with the serial number on the doors and took off back to where he was most comfortable…U.S. Navy property - The Submarine base at Norfolk, Virginia.
'Greek' Reader was a crusty Senior Chief Petty Officer who had been Chief of the Boat on three fast attack submarines. He had a little too much old navy in him to suit a majority of the Navy's hierarchy. He was apolitical and suffered fools and incompetence poorly. ComSubLant liked him ever since they served together years ago on U.S.S. Pogy. When Reader's name popped up for shore duty the Admiral made only one call and Reader was on his staff. Chief Reader's desk was now located in the outer office of ComSubLant where he was in charge. The Admiral often sent him on missions he either wished to keep secret or errands he had to have done properly. The other staff officers depended on him as well, since they all knew that, as the ad said, '…if it absolutely, positively has to be there tomorrow, call Federal Express.' They all just substituted Senior Chief 'Greek' Reader in place of that carrier.
Reader walked into the office and asked Commander Vandergrif, the Admiral's aide, "Is the Admiral in Sir? He wanted me to show him this." He held up the log not even slowing down.
"Yes Chief. Go ahead in he is expecting you." Vandergrif smiled and shook his head and returned to shuffling papers.
"I got the log Admiral, and I got an idea of how to dry it out so you can read it. Can I tell you the idea Sir?"
"Let's hear it Greek."
"Well Sir, you mentioned having the city or the State Police crime lab do it. But I think that would take time and you may not want them reading it. My guess is that this is probably very personal stuff Sir, maybe those feather merchants shouldn't be reading it."
"I agree. So what's your idea?"
"I've got two female sailors with nothing to do so I'm sending one back to their barracks for their hair dryers. I figure that within one watch they'll have it all dried out. I'll bet they have it ready for you to take home with you this afternoon Admiral."
"Do it Chief, I'm very anxious to read it. Thanks."
Admiral Murray told his wife he was going to stay up and read something so she went to bed. He was old enough and salty enough to know that this log, apparently written by dying men, would be tough for an old submariner to read. So, he got a big glass of Bushmills and sat down with a yellow pad at his side. When he finished he wrote a letter and made some notes in the pad and retired. He got very little sleep that night. He got up very early and went to the office.
Commander Vandergrif, like most aides, got to work very early so as to be there before their boss, but also to catch up on the workload during the quiet hours. He was a bit shocked to walk into the office and see the Admiral already there. The Admiral waved him in,
"Wally, I read that log last night. I couldn't sleep the rest of the night it was so disturbing. I realized that the author is the father of an old friend who taught me at Sub School. He retired a Captain a few years ago. I have kept in touch with him from time to time. Here is what I want to do on this." Admiral Murray handed over a list:
#1 - Get the attached letter typed up for me.
#2 - Have the Chief make a real good copy of the log for us to keep. I'm going to give the original to Captain Pierce.
#3 - Prepare the paper work for a Purple Heart and Bronze Star for Butch Pierce the COB - he is the man who wrote this.
#4 - Prepare the paperwork for the PUC (Presidential Unit Citation) for Cutterfish
#5 - There were two others in that compartment who I want the same thing for;
(Get their full names) Shorty Freeman and Tex Bullock
#6 - Call Captain Pierce and set up an appointment for me to go to his house. I'd like Chief Reader to drive me out there.
#7 - Try and locate the kin of the other two men. I want them to know about the awards.
Whenever the Admiral was driven by Senior Chief Reader, he sat in the front passenger seat. He was actually friends with the chief and he felt sort of pompous sitting in the back. Reader always felt honored by this and would chuckle to himself at the reactions of the Marines at the Main Gate every time he and the Admiral left the base in the gray sedan they were assigned. The trip out to the Pierce home was fairly short as were the introduction among Dan and Joanie Pierce and the Admiral and the Senior Chief. They didn't even sit down.
"Dan, we can only stay a minute. I wanted to personally drop the log and a letter for you. I thought you would probably want to read the log privately." He handed over two medal boxes, the logbook and his letter.
"I need to get back for a meeting so we'll shove off. It was nice meeting your daughter. Bye Dan, let me know if I can do anything for you." They all shook hands and suddenly Dan Pierce and his daughter Joanie were alone. He decided to read the letter first.
Commander Submarine Forces Atlantic
Naval Base Norfolk
Norfolk, VA 32205
Dan Pierce, Captain U.S. Navy (retired)
2103 Farragut Drive
Norfolk, VA 32201
Dear Captain Pierce,
Sometime around the third week of June 1942 U.S.S. Cutterfish was operating off the Virginia coast when she engaged a German U-boat on the surface. German WWII records indicate that they lost U-136 at the same time and in the same area where Cutterfish was recently discovered. Evidence from witnesses aboard the U-boat's target, a merchant ship, suggests that both submarines launched torpedoes and both boats sank.
Because of the courageous and aggressive conduct of the captain and crew of Cutterfish, I am recommending the submarine for the Presidential Unit Citation (PUC). Additionally, each member of the crew (see attached) is awarded the Purple Heart.
Only because of the extraordinary discovery of the log written by Chief of the Boat Butch Pierce, do we know about the circumstances of the survival of Cutterfish's Forward Torpedo room and the conduct of the three crewmembers left alive following the sinking. Because of the manner in which they conducted themselves under extremely difficult conditions, TM-2(SS) Willard 'Tex' Bullock, TM-2(SS) William 'Shorty' Freeman and Chief Petty Officer Butch Pierce are awarded the Bronze Star.
I am compelled to add to this commendation a comment prompted by the extraordinary discovery of Chief Pierce's log.
During WWII the Submarine Service lost 52 boats and suffered the highest death rate among all branches of the US Forces. I proudly add that despite the fact that our submarine force amounted to less than 2% of the Navy, it's efforts accounted for the destruction of more than 50% of Japan's combined naval and merchant fleets. This extraordinary feat was even more effective since the war in the Pacific was maritime in nature. In nearly every case, the 52 boats sank with all hands, so we have no evidence of the final hours of the lives of all those gallant men. Personally, as a submariner, I have always known in my heart that those thousands of submariners conducted themselves admirably in their final moments. Because of the log your father kept we now have evidence confirming my feelings.
This letter accompanies the original logbook written by your father which I feel you and your family should have.
With the Greatest Respect,
Captain Dan Pierce sat and looked at the logbook on the coffee table in front of him. Finally he picked it up, opened it and read the first five words.
"My name is Butch Pierce..." Even though he knew that it was the Cutterfish log, he was completely unprepared for this. He felt as if a bus had hit him. A great audible sob erupted within him and he sucked in deep gulps of air over and over. It was instant human grief. He could neither control it, nor explain it. His father had died 51 years ago. After all this time, why was this happening? His wife died when their daughter Joanie was six. He could still see the doctor in his scrubs coming through the door at the New London Base Hospital to tell him his wife had died trying to bear their second child. He had been grief stricken then, but this was something different - not so much worse than different. Joanie got up from her chair across from her father, not speaking for fear of coming undone herself, and put her arms around him as he sobbed.
When his wife had died he had Joanie to care for, funeral arrangements to make and his job as a student at Nuclear Power School. He could not afford the luxury of the grief he was now experiencing. Maybe this was grief for both his dad and his wife - he could not tell, but it was overwhelming. Now, at this moment, except for Joanie, all the people he loved were gone. He had no responsibilities for his Dad's burial; the sea had taken care of that. And his daughter was now in her thirties. He was completely free to grieve now, and he fervently hoped that this would be his last.
Joanie did not know how long she had held her father when he stopped sobbing and backed away from her,
"I'm sorry Joanie. God, I don't know what came over me. That's never happened to me before...ever."
"I'm glad Dad, that needed to happen. It needed to come out. You had to go through this. You know, I was just thinking that when Grandma and you were told about your Dad, it was sort of gradual really. First it was, 'The boat's over due but they could have a broken radio, or be maintaining radio silence.' Then, after awhile it was, 'Presumed lost', but you were never sure and always hopeful. You two never had closure like most people have when loved ones die. I think that this is the good part of this - the healthy part. I'm no shrink, but I believe this Dad."
"I'm making some coffee Joanie - I need to move around a bit. Want anything?"
"You have a bottle of water?" She was an athlete and didn't pick up any bad habits at Stanford, partly because of her roommate's wholesome policy of not eating anything 'nasty'. She would never knowingly eat stuff with ingredients ending in 'ase', 'ate' or 'ite'.
Joanie got up, went to his liquor cabinet, got out a bottle of Jameson's Irish Whiskey and put it on the coffee table next to the log and hoped he'd have some of it. When he came back out of the kitchen he poured some in his coffee, took a sip to make more room for more Jameson's and sat there looking at the log. His daughter sensed his apprehension and volunteered to read the log to him. She opened the logbook and began to read,
"My name is Butch Pierce…"
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