"Somebody GET this thing OFFA ME!!!"  I yelled in anger, fear, and confusion.

    "Chainfall!  Are you okay?  Anything broken?"  The Torpedoman Of The Watch asked with a frightened voice.  I did a quick system check.  Fingers wiggled, toes wiggled.  Omigod!  I couldn't move my legs!

    "I can't move my legs!"  I shouted in panic as I lay pinned to the deck.  Visions of wheelchairs passed before my eyes.

    A bunch of guys worked feverishly to remove the overturned sleeping rack that was wedged between port and starboard torpedoes and had me pinned solidly centerline on the deck between them.  I was working very hard to keep control, and trying to piece together what happened.  The guys were talking to me as they lifted the portable bunk and placed it back onto the framing around the port torpedo rack.   I was now able to move my legs again.  I was simply wedged that tightly.  All of us began talking at once.  It took just a few minutes to figure out what happened.

    "Look - "  I began, "all I know is that here I was sound asleep, and I wake up airborne, smashing into the deck with my rack falling right on top of me!"  The Torpedoman looked at me sheepishly.  He forgot to place the nuts on the retaining bolts.  He could be in BIG trouble.

    We had been submerged when I "hit the rack" after stowing my flashlight and Piping TAB, totally exhausted.  This is the normal state of consciousness for a non-qual.  A Training Aid Booklet contains color-coded drawings of all the systems aboard, and are used to locate and memorize the locations of everything from valves to switches.  We crawl into, up, over, around and down everywhere taking notes as we prepare to be given an oral examination for another signature on our qual card (qualification sheets that are signed off by certain individuals assigned as system specialists, and the qual card is systematically laid out in logical sequence.  Each "siggy" means that you really know how that system works normally and in an emergency situation, and can point out valves, for instance, blindfolded).

    All of this is done on your own time after standing watch, and doing everything necessary as the job dictates for your division - including Division Quals as well - which is a separate qual card.  Watch Stander's qual cards are still another.  That's only some of what it takes to wear dolphins.  What all this means is that when you're finally able to grab a few winks of sleep, you're out like a light!

    Waking up in mid-air is a bit disorientating.

    The seas were getting rougher as we stood there in the After Torpedo Room piecing together what happened.  It had been time to surface again, and the weather had caught everyone by surprise.  A heavy wave had slapped the port side of the sail violently as we came up, causing a heavy list.  I became an airdale.  Doing another very careful system check, nothing was bruised or broken.   The entire incident stayed right there amongst ourselves.  The temporary racks would be checked secure from then on, and I couldn't see getting a buddy into trouble over this at all.  It's a DBFer thing.

    Most ships (which to us are skimmers or targets) are constructed after it's keel is laid, and are generally "V"- shaped in design.  This shape, combined with the keel itself provides mechanical stability and dampens the listing effect as the ship cuts through waves.

    Submarines have no keel.  They're round-bottomed.  This is of no great concern for a modern  nuclear-powered boat, as she simply goes deeper if things begin to get really rough.  A diesel-electric boat is actually a suface vessel that submerges as circumstance dictates.

    This is because a battery can last just so long (pink bunnies not withstanding).  It's simply too dangerous to remain submerged - even with plenty of time left on the battery, for example, during a hurricane, and take the chance up coming up (like I just spoke of).  So if heavy seas are forcast, the Diesels had to ride everything out on the surface.  With the snorkel induction mast raised high to provide air for the main engines.

    The seas were getting worse.  I went forward to the Crew's Mess, bouncing off the bulkheads (walls) like a ping pong ball all the way.  I barked my shin going through the After Battery hatch with an unexpected lurch of the boat.  The tables were covered with plastic mesh laid between the raised table edges.  Condiment items were rolling around anyway.  Things began crashing loudly to the deck inside the galley, and the cooks were scrambling to secure everything that they could.  I had time enough for a quick wedge (sandwich) and a cup of mud (coffee) before I had to go on watch.  It was getting even worse still.

    When I arrived in Control with the other three Lookouts, we were surprised that we had to don full waterproof gear with hoods and rubber boots.  We were each given a length of nylon line (rope).  The Chief Of The Watch was telling us that we were building to a State Five Sea.  Whatever that meant.  We were soon to find out.  The Bridge hatch was shut and dogged.  The C.O.W. had to call up for permission for the lookouts to relieve the watch on the Bridge, and the hatch was opened from above.  None of this is normal.

    This was Remora and we were in the North Sea in the winter.

    Three of us went up through the Conning Tower, while the fourth stayed in Control as Off Lookout.  One stayed to relieve the Helm.  When the hatch was cracked, we scrambled up to the Bridge and quickly dogged the hatch shut again.  The guys that we were relieving were drenched, grinning, and excited as all get out!  By the time that I said "I relieve you", I was already tied inside the starboard lookout station with a line secured around my waist.  The Remora's Bridge sits much, much lower than most boats to begin with.  This, too, is not normal.  This entire watch change was done very quickly.  The last Duty Section had no sooner dogged the hatch behind them when we discovered the true reason for the lines securing us to the sail.  The seas were well into state five.  This is how the waves look at state five:

HUGE GIGANTIC MOUNTAINS!!!

    Anyone that wishes to translate that into feet and inches feel free.  That happens to be my personal unit of measure.  One of these gargantuan waves broke over us just as the hatch was being dogged shut.  We had to hold our breaths as we became completely submerged.  The wave then bouyed all three of us (O.O.D. as well) upwards until our tethers stopped us from being ripped away from the boat.

    Then the wave receded and we were being lifted higher and higher atop another one.  That's when we could quickly scan the horizon with our binoculars to ensure the boat's safety against possible collision with another vessel.  The  Officer Of The Deck (O.O.D.)  was pretty good at calling the next hit, and we'd quickly gulp air just before another one would hit us.

    This is NOT the normal way a Lookout does his job.  North Sea.  Winter.  Icy cold water.  Did we stand there shivering from the cold and fright and apprehension?  Not on your life!  This stuff was High Adventure!  In spades!  We were so pumped up with adrenilin and excited, that they had to FORCE us into fast watch rotation to prevent hypothermia.  Guys from other watch sections were lining up to volunteer to stand Lookout.  Snipes, Radiomen, Sonarmen.  Hey... this stuff was different and fun!

    By the time our watch was over, it was actually getting worse!  Most of the crew was seasick.  I was one of the very lucky few that didn't lose everything.  The boat was listing heavily as these titanic waves slammed into us.  The clinometer was showing in excess of forty-five degrees at times.  The C.O. (Comanding Officer) got on the 1MC (General Announcing System), and ordered everyone not actually on watch into his rack.

    As I made my way back to the After Torpedo Room, grabbing and holding onto anything that I could,  I found myself walking with my right foot on the deck, and my left foot on the bulkhead as I started through Hogan's Alley.  By the time I was at the compartment's after end, I was fully walking on the starboard bulkhead, hanging on for dear life to anything grabbable.

    The racks were now all fitted with safety netting, so nobody could roll out and get hurt.  Once back in the After Torpedo Room,   I stripped down, toweled dry (cheating with a bit of fresh water of course), and put on clean dunganaries (dungaree uniform).

    Climbing into my now-bolted and securely-netted rack,  I was pleasantly surprised to discover that the motion of the boat was a perfect figure eight back there!  This never happened before.  I was rocked to sleep like a baby in a cradle.  Grinning.  Why grinning?  This also meant that I didn't have to do quals for awhile...