Seakeeping

Tom Marfiak

The single and double ended cruisers of the Cold War shared a singular characteristic. They were great ships in heavy seas. Their bows were built in heavy sections, with massive bulwarks to defend against the ocean’s best efforts. They could take a beating. Later, the AEGIS cruisers would bring the same ability to bear and the Arleigh Burke destroyers after them, in the same way. These capabilities are built in from the beginning, the product of the ship builder’s art.

From the bridge, the bow extended in a graceful arc on either side. The windlasses and anchor chains extending to the bulwarks gave mute evidence of the need to keep the seas, even in shallow waters. The launcher raised its sloping house against the horizon. It was a purposeful presentation. There was no doubt about its ability to take the sea. At the front of the launcher assembly, great doors covered the launching rails, ready to extend their armament onto the launchers.

A quick study of the hull outline, even today, would reveal the genius of the design. Below the main deck, the hull swept away from the knife edge forward to fuller sections aft. Above the main deck, the bulwarks swept back on either side, extending aft to the central superstructure. The effect of this combination was to create a sea kindly hull that deflected the ocean outward as each wave was encountered in its turn. We never saw green water assault the bridge.

Within the bridge, consoles and helm controls were intermingled. During the day, the normal routine of the ship was maintained from the bridge. At night, it became a magic space, illuminated by the radar consoles. The watch went quietly about its business, the great ship lifting beneath. Over the years, countless sailors kept her on course, and never once did she meet the ground, or bring embarrassment to her commander. These were the sailors who met every challenge, in every port, and brought her home safely.

The underwater body of any hull is where the captain’s attention often focuses. What are the clearances between screw tips and the bottom? How is the sonar dome going to handle the approach to the pier? For these cruisers, with their large hull mounted sonar domes well forward, just as for their AEGIS cruiser successors, a steep approach to the pier was not a good idea. We came in flat, and let the wind or tugs do the closing. In addition, the after body also played an important part in ship handling. Flat through the stern sections, she could turn swiftly, carving a swath at speed, with the pivot point just aft of the bridge. The art form was how to handle her at slow speeds. With two screws, and one giant barn door of a rudder, she handled well at speeds above seven or eight knots, where sufficient purchase could be generated. Below that speed regime, however, one was committed on the basis of the angle of approach and the wind and currents. A strong backing bell was never amiss.

Seakeeping has, however, many aspects. In the calm seas of the Caribbean in February, the challenge was not great. However, in 1977, returning from the Mediterranean with the USS Saratoga Battle Group, the extreme was encountered. Imagine seas as great as entire apartment blocks. Further, imagine that they may be so close together as to deny even the greatest ships the possibility of recovery between onslaughts. That was where USS Biddle found itself in the late fall as we progressed, ever so carefully, into a rapidly growing Atlantic storm.

Not long after passing the straits of Gibraltar, the seas began to build. In short order, we were enmeshed in a weather system that nearly brought us to our knees. Destroyers assembled about the carrier disappeared behind the rolling crests. Often, only their masts could be discerned beyond the crests of the following waves. Each moment, we would look to see if they would rise above the next sea. Each moment, our own bows would rise, streaming spray, to ready themselves for the next plunge.

A look at the carrier, so immense in close proximity, revealed the supremacy of the sea. White water cascaded down the side of the great ship, rising over the bows over seven stories above the sea. We would later learn she had lost thirteen life rafts and most of her starboard catwalks. And yet, we all pressed on toward home.

Flight operations were quite out of the question. Each aircraft was tied down with double chains. There would be time enough to get them ready to fly off before the carrier arrived in the region of Norfolk, Virginia, several days later.

Somewhere in this maelstrom of flying spray, I walked out onto the deck behind the bridge. Relatively sheltered there, it was a good place to smoke a pipe and gauge the seas. Looking up, I was startled to see the ECM mast, far above the bridge, swaying in opposite direction to the ship’s movement. The weld holding it to its platform had broken, and the mast, with its sensitive antennae, promised to become a projectile, ready to plummet through the deck beneath. Only the most delicate ship driving and the luck of the engineers would keep it aloft through the remainder of the transit. That is how it would play out. We arrived in Norfolk, several days later with the mast still standing and the repairs would begin.

First the shipyard had to build scaffolding to extend to the upper mast platform. Then the delicate job of welding the mast to the deck could begin. But first, the deck had to be reinforced. A portion of the deck would be cut away, and a thicker plate welded in. Then the entire mast would be welded onto the new footing. Welding aluminum at that altitude above deck, in that cold, was not a casual exercise, nor was its inspection. As the engineer, it was my task to inspect the final weld. So, up the mast I went! Of course, every safety feature was available -harness, clamps, straps, the works. It was still a long way up! One click at a time, I mounted the mast. Along side a steady pier, I was thankful we were not still at sea. Finally, arrived at platform level, the weld could be inspected. It was bright and solid. I was prayerfully respectful for the workman who had climbed the same summit to make the repair. That was the way we did business—it would be done, silently, no matter what the sacrifice. Our nation depended on it.

There is so much more to keeping the sea than just the design of the hull. It is the heart of sailors who man it that give it life. It is the skill of the crew that keeps it going that makes it an operational ship, able to meet our country’s needs, anywhere, anytime. This is one small story—there are so many others. USS Biddle was, and remains in our hearts, as one of those great ships that carried the presence of the United States to the far corners of the world, with grace and power and professionalism. We are proud, still, to have been a part of her.