I first came here to NAVSUBASE New London in 1990 to attend the Submarine Officer Basic Course. After a year of nuclear power training, it was a welcome respite in the realm of submarine tactics, training us to actually operating the submarine as a warship instead of operating a reactor plant.
It was not that academically strenuous as the nuke side had been, so we enjoyed much alcohol and fun in the surrounding area (primarily Mystic).
Six years later, I returned, this time for the Submarine Officer Advanced Course (SOAC) which is the Submarine Force Department Head course. This is all strategy and tactics. Learning tactics, weapons employment, etc. Very intense, but we were so focused: this would lead to submarine command. Six months it lasted…and I lived in a room right across the hall from that which tonight I occupy.
A year later, we came up here (my boat, that is, the mighty USS SCRANTON (SSN756)) for predeployment training. Two weeks of classroom training and Attack Trainer sessions, 18 hours a day…
Throughout all those times up here, I noticed that not a thing had changed.
When I passed through the main gate last month, the only thing I could immediately discern was the improved barricades and security. Otherwise, this place could have been in a time capsule. The CBQ has not changed, the roads have not been repaved, it’s all the same…
But not really.
The streets on base here are all name for lost submarines from WW II. I knew that my previous times here, but never gave it much thought. Last month, I clearly noticed that the street signs had been changed.
The street signs now also contain the date the boat was lost and the number of submariners lost that date. SHARK, SCORPION, HARDER, GRAYLING…TANG.
Remember.
Being a landlubber myself, I find your link chilling. I’ve always held submariners in high regard – they operate in an environment I would never enter.
A fitting tribute to these extremely brave individuals.
It is fitting here to remind all about the fascinating book, “Blind Man’s Bluff – The Untold Story of Submarine Espionage”. Brave bubbleheads get their due. Your appreciation of the Silent Service will grow by leaps and bounds.
http://www.amazon.com/s?ie=UTF8&search-type=ss&index=books&field-author=Sherry%20Sontag&page=1
When I was growing up I wanted to be a submariner. I read every war story about submarines I could find. I never did become one.
The closest I came to knowing how a family member must feel when a sailer didn’t come home was when I got to visit an Inuit village in Greenland. There were fenced in areas about 2 feet by 4 feet. Some of them had a little kayak in them.
The guide said they were for the fishermen who never came back. I stood and looked at those graves for a while, and felt a little something of what it would be like if one of my family members didn’t come back.