As Rough As It May Seem,It's Still Steady As You Go...
ABOARD HMCS CORNER BROOK (CP) - The monotonous drone that
emanates from the belly of HMCS Corner Brook is suddenly broken by
the sound of three urgent words that make every sailor jump.
"Fire, fire, fire," warns a voice through a loudspeaker, punctuated by
blaring buzzers.
The 59 crew members of Canada's only fully operational submarine
hastily don breathing masks and rush to extinguish a simulated blaze
in the control room.
The drill, conducted last week after the 70-metre sub completed a high
-stakes mission in the Far North, provided a rare glimpse of what has to
be every submariner's worst fear.
The Canadian Press accepted an exclusive invitation from the navy to
step aboard the diesel-powered sub for a first-hand look at training
drills and mock scenarios as it cruised the depths of the North Atlantic
from St. John's, N.L., to Halifax.
During four days at sea, half of which were spent submerged, the drills
occurred twice a day, unannounced.
The goal is to strengthen the crew's emergency response skills and avoid
the kind of tragedy that claimed the life of navy Lt. Chris Saunders after
a fire aboard HMCS Chicoutimi during its maiden voyage to Canada in
October 2004.
The scenarios are eerily realistic. White-grey smoke, generated by a
machine that uses vegetable oil, fills the control room within seconds.
Several members of the crew shout orders while one of them rushes to
retrieve a fire extinguisher. Lt.-Cmdr. Christopher Robinson, the
submarine's captain, keeps an eye on his stopwatch.
"What are you supposed to be doing?" Robinson yells at one of them.
When the drill is over and the tension subsides, the sub's executive
officer says more work needs to be done with the trainees.
"It can go smoother, and if fully qualified personnel would've taken care
of the incident, it would've gone a lot faster," Alex Kooiman says.
"But one of our major roles is to train the next generation of submariners."
These drills shatter the quiet routine of the crew, but even the most
mundane tasks pose a special challenge aboard a submarine.
Inside the weapons storage compartment, the slumber of some trainees
is disrupted when one of them slams his head against a lever, opening a
wound on his forehead that will require a single stitch from the onboard
doctor.
Master Seaman Blair Jensen, a naval weapons technician who has
worked on Canadian submarines for 13 years, admits he occasionally
misses the comforts of home.
"I mean, who wouldn't want to be on their leather couch instead of
sitting up here?" Jensen says.
The submariners are given their own sleeping bags and snooze in
bunks whenever they're not on shift.
Privacy is scarce. Those seeking sleep must learn to tune out
conversationsand focus on the hypnotic crash of waves against
the hull.
Inevitably, the call of nature beckons, and with it comes an
exercise in balance and determination inside a stall the size of
a phone booth as the ocean rocks the boat back and forth.
A posted sign reinforces the importance of stealth, even inside
the bathroom:
"When taking a leak, be quiet because you don't know who is
listening."
A hose, aimed at the middle of the toilet, completes the process
- but not before the high-pressure blast causes a splash.
No matter. Whatever settles outside the bowl makes little
difference afterseveral days. The harsh smell of diesel permeates
everything. One of the veteran submariners advises: keep your
submarine wear in a separate closet from your civilian threads.
Pick up a bar of soap and you may be accused of taking a "Hollywood
shower."
Everyone stinks and nobody cares.
At one point, the sub dives and every crewman lurches slightly forward.
A can of pop on the edge of a table slides before someone catches it.
For security reasons, the cruising depth is classified. But according to the
navy, the submarine is capable of diving more than 200 metres.
HMCS Corner Brook is one of four Victoria-class submarines Canada
bought from the British government in 1998 for $891 million. The 2,400
-tonne subs have since been the subject of intense scrutiny, stoked by
tales of leaks, cracked valves and missing acoustic tiles.
In June 2003, for example, HMCS Corner Brook was forced to make an
emergency surfacing after 500 litres of seawater spilled into the motor
room.
But the navy insists those problems have been fixed, and point to the
vessel's recent, problem-free voyage to the Arctic.
Inside a galley that's not much bigger than an outhouse, Sgt. Patrice
Masse serves up surprisingly delicious meals, the aroma of which fills
the cool, stale air.
"Guys don't have much to do on board - sleep, eat, you know?"
Masse says.
"So cooking reminds them a little bit of home. ... It's about morale.
A fed crew is a happy crew."
Despite the limited space - the submarine is only 7.6 metres wide -
Masse insists the task of feeding 59 is easy. He keeps every can,
knife and measuring cup in order, making the most of precious little
shelf space.
"It's not as bad as it looks," he says, slicing steak. "After a while you
know how much stuff you need, how much the guys like. You know
your big eater and the one that eats small."
Dinner is devoured. Each of the three mess halls allow for only half a
dozen submariners to eat at a time.
When not eating, sleeping or training, some of the crew dodge bullets
and launch grenades in Ghost Recon Advanced Warfighter, a first-
person video game on the Xbox 360.
Others smoke to pass the time. But the navy is considering banning
the habit.
It recently changed the rules to allow only three people to smoke at
a time in an area enclosed by rubber curtains, and only when the
engine is running so the smoke is sucked out.
Back above the surface, a school of porpoises flirt with the bow,
leaping out of two-metre swells. From the conning tower, it's a
bright and calm day in the Grand Banks. Visibility is unlimited.
The vast space is nothing but varying shades of blue, as far as the
eye can see.
That scene is a stark contrast to the one several hours later,
beneath the claustrophobic hatchway.
In the midst of the mock fire, Robinson employs his tough-love
approach from the perch of his captain's chair.
"Take control!" he orders one of the trainees.
But his gruff demeanour belies the camaraderie he has helped
forge with the crew.
"The guys are a close-knit bunch," says navy Lt. James Chase,
a marine systems engineer in training.
Kooiman, the submarine's second-in-command, later prepares a
simulated firing of two torpedoes.
In reality, it's a water shot, but the backfire inside the submarine
is no less powerful. As the shot is fired, a blast of water vapour
explodes through one of the sub's passageways.
"And we do some pretty cool stuff," he grins.
Posts
