Authors: Philip Chen
Robison had joined MacAlear Aviation in the late fifties as a systems engineer. In the intervening years, he had advanced within the company and was now responsible for the Squid Project. It was in this position that Robison began to shine. Completing the
Squid
had become an obsession to Robison; the Holy Grail.
What the
Squid
didn't have was a sugar daddy.
Although the major components of the
Squid
had been assembled and pressure tested, government funding for the project had dropped off as the Viet Nam conflict intensified.
In order to keep the Squid Project alive, Robison had developed into quite the consummate grants player and office politician. By hook or crook, Robison had scraped together enough money year-by-year to keep his baby alive and on life support. However, at age forty five, Robison feared that he was coming to the end of the trail as far as the
Squid
was concerned.
One can just imagine his elation to hear from his old friend, Tom Sevson, who expressed an interest in the
Squid
. This joy was compounded when he heard that NAVFAC was sending a young officer to interview him about the project. A faint glimmer of hope sparked in Robison's heart that maybe, just maybe, there was going to be a reprieve for the
Squid
.
Cruel fate intervened, he thought, when some dumb red necked commie catchers took this young fellow into custody on some trumped up charge. Robison was greatly relieved to hear that Mike had survived the inquisition and was now safely in his office.
"Why don'cha guys pull up a chair," said Robison. "I've got some sodas in the fridge. What's your pleasure?" as he went to the small refrigerator in the corner of his office. Opening the door of the refrigerator, Robison reached in and took out an assortment of sodas.
"I'll have a Coke," said Mike.
"I'll take the NeHi orange," was Sevson's response.
Handing Mike a Coke, Robison said, "I hope you don't hold what the D.I.A. did against all Californians."
"Don't worry, Ed. Those assholes were no more Californian than George Wallace. You've probably heard from Tom that I went to Stanford, didn't you get your doctorate there?"
"Sure did, although Stanford in the early fifties was a heck of a smaller place."
"Tell me about the
Squid
," said Mike.
"From the specifications book that we sent you and Tom, you have a good idea about its operational profile. The
Squid
has an operating depth of over 20,000 feet. It can carry a crew of three: a pilot, an assistant, and one observer; four if everyone sucks in their tummies and is real friendly. The pressure sphere is constructed of titanium and had three small portholes for the crew. It can be on its own for up to forty eight hours, although it gets pretty rank by that time. We have attachment plates for scientific equipment, including high resolution television cameras, and strobe lights. It can also be equipped with an articulated mechanical arm for picking up samples."
"How soon can we get her operational," asked Sevson. He had been sitting quietly in the background.
"That's the catch. I ran out of funds for anything more than component testing. The components are ready to go but I need about a year of system testing and operational phase testing before we can get to the at-sea trials. I would say if we could get the funding, I could be ready to go in eighteen months," replied Robison.
"How much would that take and is there any way to expedite the process?" asked Mike.
Like a kid who had just been given a sack full of money in a candy store, Robison's face lit up, "I think that we would need about ten million dollars to meet an eighteen month schedule. If we put some system tests on parallel test schedules, we might be able to shave a maximum of three months to the schedule."
Mike and Sevson exchanged wary glances.
Finally, Mike said, "We can do that."
1969: Face to Face
0800 Hours: Tuesday, February 26, 1969, Aboard the USS Marysville Over the Hatteras Abyssal Plain
Mike stood on the deck of the USS
Marysville
, looking out over the vast expanse of blue water. There were a few waves, but generally the ocean surface was calm, perfect conditions for launching the
Squid
, which was aboard its own tender, the R/V
Falling Star
. The
Marysville
would serve as a support vessel for this trip. The only sound Mike could hear was the slap of the waves against the hull of the
Marysville
.
These last fifteen months had been exciting ones for Mike. Living and working in the Bay area was a nostalgia trip for Mike. During off days he would walk around the Stanford University campus basking in the northern California sun, watching the bronzed coeds scurrying between classes and Meyer Memorial Library, dodging the bike traffic that seemed to flow endlessly, and occasionally, official business would bring him on campus to consult with one of his professors.
One of the best times to walk around the campus was in the late afternoon and early evening, particularly along the paths through fragrant groves of eucalyptus trees with their Vicks vapor rub smell that proliferated throughout the campus.
Mike considered it a personal victory when Sevson began suggesting they go to the Oasis for a hamburger. Mike had learned his lesson well and always wore dungarees and polo shirts whenever they went to the off campus restaurant.
As he stared out at the gentle swells of the ocean surface, the newly minted Lieutenant (j.g.), U.S.N.R., chuckled to himself as he remembered McHugh's reaction when he and Sevson had reported back on the cost of deploying the
Squid
.
McHugh had blurted, "YOU DID WHAT?!!" as his cigar dropped from his open mouth.
Now that the
Squid
was ready for its first deep mission over the Hatteras Abyssal Plain, McHugh was all over the place like a mother hen watching over her brood. McHugh was fascinated by the prospect of actually going to the bottom of the ocean in a free swimming submersible. At times it was difficult to discern whether his excitement was directed toward the prospect of finding out once and for all what secrets lay 18,000 feet below or in riding this magnificent machine. Robison and Sevson ruthlessly kidded their old friend, McHugh, about being a kid with a new toy. McHugh's reply each time was, "But What a Toy!"
0800 Hours: Friday, March 15, 1969, Aboard the R/V Falling Star
Even though Mike was not scheduled for a dive until later in the operational phase of the mission, he had plenty to do. Standing on the deck of the R/V
Falling Star
, Mike had responsibility for checking out the instrumentation package prior to any operation. To do this effectively, Mike had to don a wet suit and SCUBA apparatus. Mike enjoyed this assignment because it allowed him to be close to the
Squid
and to be part of history.
The initial operational dive would be conducted by the
Squid's
regular crew of two: the pilot, Jim Anderson, and his crew chief, Walt Carver. Anderson was an old hand in the submersible business, having trained on such vessels as the
Deepstar 2000
,
Alvin
, and
Aluminaut
. Anderson had been stricken with deep-sea fever at an early age and like most pilots of commercial submersibles had spent his entire career chasing that dream.
When Robison figured that the
Squid
was going to become reality, he put out the call to his old friend who at that time was at the Woods Hole Oceanographic Institute near Falmouth, Massachusetts, running its small fleet of submersibles, including the
Alvin
, which having a dive depth of 8,000 feet was one of the deepest diving free swimming vessels available. When Anderson heard 20,000 feet he didn't need much persuasion and was in Sunnyvale within a week.
Anderson was just over six feet tall and had the leathery brown tan of someone who probably spent too much time in the sun. His brown hair was thinning and his blue eyes had a penetrating hardness tinged with the crinkles of a smile. He wore dungarees and white tee shirts, on his right forearm was a tattoo of a porpoise diving into the waves, if you looked hard you could still see the heart with the name "Louise" that the porpoise was supposed to hide. On his belt, he always carried a stainless steel sailing knife in a leather case, the kind that has a five inch blade on one end and a five inch marlin spike on the other. Anderson's reputation was hard work, hard play, joker when things went well and deadly, deadly serious about the dives.
When things go wrong on the bottom, you can't pop the canopy and parachute out - here there is no out, was one of Anderson's favorite quotes.
In contrast, Walt Carver had spent twenty years in the U.S. Navy and had retired at age thirty seven as a Chief Petty Officer. Most of his career was spent in the engine room of various surface fleet vessels. After his retirement from the Navy, Carver got a job as a shop foreman in the Marine Division of MacAlear assembling hydrofoils used for patrol in Viet Nam. It was in this job that Carver earned a reputation for meeting and exceeding performance standards and schedules. So it was an easy call for Robison, when the funds actually started flowing from McHugh's confidential sources, to badger MacAlear's management into sparing Carver from his normal duties.
Shanghaiing Carver may have been the smartest thing that Robison did during the entire fifteen months. Carver was all over the place, making sure that each component was correctly assembled and checked out. The young engineers and technicians at MacAlear called him Chief in deference to his retired rank and out of fondness for this gentle, soft spoken West Virginian who had never even seen the ocean when he walked into the Navy recruiter's office in Beckley, West Virginia, one autumn day in 1942, Walt had decided to join the Navy right after Pearl Harbor, but had to wait until autumn when he turned seventeen. Carver's dad had refused to sign for him when he was sixteen.
A slight man of forty-five, Carver was a wiry contrast to Anderson both in appearance and in style. No bravado, no jokes, just quiet listening and contemplative nods of the head when listening to the many problems sure to arise. Carver always dressed in his Navy dungarees and light blue work shirt. Even after twenty years in the Navy and eight at MacAlear, his weight had not changed one pound and he could still wear the uniform he wore as a recruit at the Great Lakes Training Center in Illinois.
The
Squid
was beautiful, its fiberglass outer hull glistened white, royal blue lettering and striping made for an impressive machine. The pressure hull hung inside the outer hull, but projected from the bow of the vessel thereby enabling the pilot and observers to see frontward and downward.
A fiberglass conning tower, flooded during dives, enabled the crew to operate the submersible at the surface. Outfitted with a fully articulated robotic arm, the
Squid
could do useful work in addition to providing mobility during its dives. The
Squid
also had forward scanning sonar which worked much like radar would for a surface vessel. Television cameras and strobe lights completed the standard instrumentation.
Because of its mission, the
Squid
was also outfitted with a variety of oceanographic instrumentation including the now familiar metastable-helium magnetometer. Launching the
Squid
was an art, in and of itself. The R/V
Falling Star
was a catamaran with a gigantic open platform that served as an elevator in between its twin hulls. By lowering the platform, the
Squid
could simply swim out on its own power. There was no need to hoist the submersible into the water.
The
Squid
sat on a specially designed cradle in the center of the elevator. Designed for an earlier, shallower version of the
Squid
, the
Deep Diver
, the R/V
Falling Star
did not require extensive refitting to accommodate the
Squid
. Because of the size of the R/V
Falling Star
, the water between the two hulls remained relatively calm.
Additionally, the hulls of the R/V
Falling Star
could be flooded, dropping the vessel's waterline to create a pool of calmness even in moderately rough seas.
Anderson and Carver climbed in to the conning tower of the
Squid
. Dressed in blue coveralls with the MacAlear logo on the back, both of them had wisely worn long johns underneath. Despite the 90 degree air and warm surface water temperatures, the ocean beneath the photic zone remained generally a cool 32 degrees, Fahrenheit. At deeper depths, the temperature could drop even further. The
Squid
was equipped with chemical heaters, but prudence dictated that occupants dressed warmly. Robison served as dive director on this first dive. McHugh and Sevson would help Robison launch the submersible.
Mike was dressed in his wet suit and SCUBA equipment. His job today was to ride the outside of the
Squid
, along with two MacAlear technicians to conduct a final instrumentation check in the water before the submersible attempted its first dive over the Hatteras Abyssal Plain. In addition to his wet suit and SCUBA gear, Mike would be wearing a microphone and headset so he could communicate with Anderson.
Anderson and Carver disappeared into the pressure sphere of the submersible, the hatch closed with a solid, but muffled clang. Once the hatch was closed the only way that Anderson could communicate with Robison was via a through-hull telephone patch.
However, once the
Squid
was launched from the R/V
Falling Star
and the telephone link was automatically uncoupled, the crew of the
Squid
would be left on their own. However, they would have the company of Mike and two MacAlear technicians for the start of their trip.