Toning Up the Nuclear Triad

(2 of 4)

During a practice firing, announced by an ear-shattering klaxon that called the 158-man crew to battle stations, Farmer assumed his post in front of the sub's dual periscopes. As crewmen ticked off information about bearing and depth, the captain verified each reading and repeated in a low but firm voice, "I agree." Then, checking a console screen to his left that showed the status of his 24 weapons, he ordered, "Make missiles ready." In the missile control center one deck below, Weapons Officer Lieut. John Hardenbergh worked at two other consoles that control the silos and the firing of the missiles. Both men have metal keys, each of which must be turned in their console before ignition can occur.

Hardenbergh's console controlling the launchers is dominated by rows of seven lights showing the status of each missile, ranging from "dummy" (the missile is passive) to "missile away." Each weapon has been pretargeted and carries highly sophisticated, computer-controlled guidance systems. The final release would be performed by Hardenbergh with a pistol-grip firing trigger attached to his console. The missiles are propelled through their silos by compressed gas, which then forms a bubble around them until they reach the water's surface and ignite automatically.

Life aboard any submarine, even the newest, is filled with constraints. Besides the close quarters and long patrols, there are special precautions that would occur to few civilians. Because the Soviets are constantly listening for audible signals from underwater U.S. craft, for example, submariners must be careful to keep telltale noise at a minimum. This effort includes obvious steps like maintaining complete radio silence. It also extends to such daily details as wearing rubber-soled shoes and refraining from knocking on hatches.

By submarine standards of yore, life aboard the Jackson borders on easy duty. The $2 billion Tridents contain the first flush toilets in an underwater craft, and the first stairs. The air is kept at a constant 72 degrees and circulates rapidly enough to make smoking permissible. Instead of being assigned to "hot racks," or beds that rotate among off-duty personnel, each crew member has his own bunk, equipped with stereo headphones. Food is copious, though overindulgence is rarely a problem. As one crew member explained, "We have to remember that hatches out of this place are only 24 inches in diameter."

The long periods of isolation aboard the Jackson only make starker the realization that confronts every member of the armed services who actually fingers a nuclear trigger: a single squeeze would change the world forever. Farmer, for one, has thought through endless contingencies, including the nightmare of losing contact with Washington during a presumed attack. Says he: "I would not launch without authorization, period." By the same token, he does not flinch from the thought of carrying out his doomsday role. Says he: "If a captain is not prepared to execute, there is no deterrence."