Probing the Deep

Title Page

Probing the Deep

By Karl J Boericke

Acknowledgments

By Karl J Boericke

©Copyright 2015 Karl J Boericke. All rights reserved. This book may not be reproduced in part of in whole without written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations used in reviews.

ISBN: 978-1-312-92436-9

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Thanks to all those who have given me support, input and feedback on this book:

Carol Ross-Durborow, who inspired me to keep going!

Michael Adamski

Bruce Cronlund

Suzanne Evans

Don Geldien

Bruce Crampton

Andrew Bork

Michael Marriott

Kevin Roth

Arlene Stutzman

... and of course my beautiful wife Treva

Many other friends and family have also read and given me input.  Thanks to you all!

1 - Prologue

"But no one -- no one -- has done more to prevent conflict --- no one has made a greater sacrifice for the cause of peace than you, America’s proud missile submarine family. You stand tall among all our heroes of the Cold War."

General Colin L. Powell

April 25, 1992

Prologue

On June 12, 1987, President Ronald Reagan spoke the historic words Mr. Gorbachev, tear down this wall! He spoke from the Brandenburg Gate near the Berlin wall to the Soviet leader, who was in the process of building another round of nuclear weapons. No one knew at the time that this was to mark the beginning of the end of the Cold War. Today, when I hear these words, emotion wells up from the depths of my soul, because I lived on the front lines for the last few years of the Cold War, inside a submarine whose nuclear missiles were poised to strike at any moment. I was one in a series of trigger men who were prepared, if our country so directed, to unleash unfathomable death and destruction to any part of the planet within range that dared to strike first. It was like watching a friend through the cross hairs of a rifle, hour after hour, day after day, month after month, all the while praying, and praying, and praying that he would put down his arms and extend a hand in peace.

Throughout history, humanity's youth have been taught the ways of battle. We have plucked our children, fresh out of their states of innocence and placed them face-to-face with one of the most perplexing moral issues we can confront as a species. Do we have the duty, or the right, or the obligation to kill another in support of some greater moral cause, or in defense of the body of people with whom we have aligned ourselves? This moral conundrum challenges our understanding of the fabric that connects the natural character of man with our belief (or disbelief) in our Creator, raising additional questions.  Am I, myself, willing to die for this perceived moral purpose? Will I sing with the angels or be absorbed into the devil for taking part in this act? These questions have always been a heavy burden on the soldier going into battle. The tender youth who find themselves facing these questions in the blood of the trenches become hardened. They either strengthen their resolve in their answers to these questions, or they lose themselves to the insanity such questions can inflict, burying the self deep within for protection.

The front lines of the Cold War, as stated above, though also held in fixed silos and bomber bases in undisclosed locations, were primarily in the isolated submarines that patrolled the world's oceans, always ready to strike back. The imagery of these front lines may not conjure up the phrase battle hardened or may not be what you might imagine in the trenches of World War I or II, but I would argue that the mental battles in the deep oceans during this point in history were just as real, if not more so, than those of the entrenched foot soldiers. Never before in the history of man has one individual or nation had the ability to kill on such a massive scale as when the first atomic bombs were dropped on Japan at the end of World War II. It is one thing to place the sites of a gun on an individual and pull the trigger. That act brings with it a kind of hell that changes a person to his roots. It is an entirely different thing to place the sites of a gun on an entire nation with the potential of killing tens of millions with a single act. When facing an individual in the trenches, your opponent is facing the same moral questions that you are. The combat has been chosen, at least to some degree, at the individual level. When squaring off against an entire nation, most of the population has no clue what is happening, and all the knowledge and decisions rest on the shoulders of those few individuals in power, whether supported by the people or not. In this case, the moral decisions have been separated from the people of that country, and replaced with a mindless ignorance. The contemplation of the killing of innocence in the defense of country, or in retaliation for an attack against country, such were the battles of the Cold War. Though a shot was never fired, the battle still wages in the minds of some of its participants. What would I have done in a real nuclear launch? I will never be able to answer that question, but the possibility still haunts me, and the memories of this moral battle within me, if examined to their deepest core, would cause my stomach to turn inside out.

Most of us were in our early 20's at the time. The senior weapons officer was in his late 30's, and the Captain, who held the final key in the series needed to launch, was in his mid 40's. As I think back now, it seems like we were all kids who were carrying the weight of the world on our shoulders, trying to carry out the wishes of our country’s leaders, each to the best of our abilities.

During this time I was constantly struggling over the conflicts within my soul.  The battle between my mission, my own convictions, and feelings of worthlessness sent me into a tailspin, driving me down the road of depression and attempted suicide. I have shrouded this part of my life in silence for many years for protection.  Now, some twenty five years later, I have come to the conclusion that I need to probe the dark depths of my soul in order to find a lasting resolution to my own inner turmoil. 

This book is my attempt to find peace within myself, and also to provide a historical record of that moment in time, as observed from the eyes of this Cold War submariner. As with any observation of a wide-scale phenomenon from a single vantage point, it is limited. Memories of events that happened over 20 years ago may have been colored by my own dreams and imagination as they have been replayed in my mind over the years. I have made efforts to verify facts and dates as much as possible. There are times when the reality of a story could not be parsed from what I imagined might have happened at the moment. I have tried to weed out these memories to provide as accurate a portrayal as possible, though I am sure I have not always hit the mark. It must be assumed by the reader that the dialog in this book, though written as accurately as possible, is limited to the restrictions of my memory and thus must be considered historical fiction.  The real names of the people in this book have been changed.

2 - Cold War Background

Cold War Background

On August 6, 1945, the United States announced to the world, in the form of a mushroom cloud over Hiroshima, Japan, that we had won the race to build the first atomic bomb. The second came three days later as Nagasaki, Japan suffered an equally devastating fate. These announcements brought a quick end to the war in Japan, but also brought a price tag that few at the time might have expected.

Not to be outdone, the Russians ramped up their atomic program, after stealing some secrets from the United States, detonating their own bomb in August of 1949.

The race was now on, each country attempting to outdo the other in the number and effectiveness of their weapons, as well as the technology to deliver them to the feet of their opponents as quickly as possible.

The instability of the Soviet Union at the time, a result of military action against their neighboring countries, and their expressed intention to bring Communism to all corners of the globe had the United States in fear of Russian aggression. In my opinion rightfully so. One of the primary tenets of Communism involves the dismantling and removal of religion, one of the cornerstone freedoms of the United States.

As a result of this fear, in the mid 1950's, the United States adopted a policy of Mutually Assured Destruction (MAD). MAD was based on the premise that only a madman would launch a nuclear war against an opponent if that opponent could, and would, retaliate, ensuring the complete destruction of its aggressor. In order for this policy to become a reality, the United States needed to have a nuclear arsenal in place that could not be found or neutralized by its enemies.  In order to be effective, this arsenal needed to be mobile and able to launch a retaliatory attack at a moment's notice. The adoption of MAD gave birth to the Fleet Ballistic Missile (FBM) program. If the United States had enough submarines, each capable of carrying and launching a small arsenal of nuclear missiles while remaining hidden under the ocean, its enemies would never dare strike the first blow.

To bring this vision to reality, many obstacles needed to be overcome, and a lot of submarines had to be built. In 1958, the first hurdle was jumped by attaching a single missile to the top of a submarine. July 20, 1960 marked the first successful firing of a ballistic missile from a missile tube mounted inside a submerged submarine.

The FBM program was soon a reality. From 1960 to 1967, a total of 41 FBM submarines were built to carry out this mission, and started patrolling the world's oceans.

In 1972, the SALT I treaty (or Strategic Arms Limitations Talks) between Russia and the United States limited the number of submarine launched ballistic missiles (SLBMs) to 656 (41 subs with 16 missiles each). How convenient that this was the number of active missiles the United States had in its fleet! SALT I did not, however, limit the number of nuclear warheads each missile could carry. Soon, up to 14 Multiple Independently-targetable Re-entry Vehicles (MIRVs) were placed on the top of each missile, increasing the potential number of available nuclear warheads in the fleet from 656 to a maximum of 9184, or up to 224 nuclear bombs per submarine.

The SALT II treaty in 1979 limited the total number of nuclear warheads that could be in the fleet, and though the United States congress never ratified the treaty, we did adopt our own limitations of 10 MIRVs per missile (or 160 warheads per submarine).

At the height of the Cold War, the nuclear weapons held by the United States and Soviet Union combined were enough to blow up the entire world several times over. Though there have been some reductions since then, the nuclear stockpiles in these and other countries are still morbidly excessive.

3 - Leaving Home

Leaving Home

I was born and raised in Bryn Athyn, Pennsylvania--a small, somewhat isolated Christian community outside of Philadelphia. My mother was born and raised there by her Swedish immigrant parents. The story of their immigration and settlement is described in a book titled Three White Horses, a best seller in the 1940's, written and published by my great-aunt who published under the pen name Fingal Von Sudorf. My father was born in the same general area, and after living in several surrounding towns, moved and settled next door to my mother's family when they were both in their early teens.

In Bryn Athyn I attended a private Christian school.  It was the only school in town really.  Those four or five students who chose to go to public school were bussed off to the neighboring school district, and had no real social life in the town of any kind.

I had a problem with wetting my bed for many years as a child, and during the day it was not unusual for me to wet my pants whether at home or in school. As you can imagine, this did not leave a good impression with my classmates.  I was picked on mercilessly.

It was understandable to me that I didn't have control of my bladder while I was sleeping, but I could never answer the question that was always posed to me as a child. Why don't you just go to the bathroom, Karl?  Knowing when I had to go was not the problem.  It was a standard routine for me to pinch my legs together and massage myself with my hand in my pocket in an attempt to stop the urge.  It rarely worked for more than a few minutes.  The next thing I knew there was a dark patch forming on my pants, and all the kids were pointing and laughing.  Boys and girls alike would turn their backs when they saw me and feign secrecy while cupping hand to mouth and exclaiming, Eew!  Here he comes! or Run away, it's Kaaaaruuul.  I felt a warm flush come over my face, and buried my joy-of-life a little bit deeper with each passing comment.  It dissolved any trust I had in many of my peers for years to come. Today, the only explanation I can give for this bladder problem is that I was terrified of interrupting adults to ask if I could go to the bathroom.

At the school's request, my parents sent me to counseling, both individual and family.  We even went down to the Children's Hospital of Philadelphia for a few weeks of family observation.  The answer was always the same. We don't know why he has this problem, but eventually he will grow out of it.  Eventually I did.  In fourth grade my teacher, Mrs. Wyncoll, forced me to go to the boy's room at the beginning of recess every day.  Somehow this cured me of my plight during the day, but it took me another few years to be rid of the bed wetting.

By the time I had finally mastered the art of going to the bathroom, my self esteem was through the floor.  My classmates had thoroughly embedded in me that I had very little or no value at all, and a deep part of me had accepted this.  I could not figure out for myself why I didn't just go to the bathroom, so I simply accepted my classmates assessment that I was defective, and carried this with me for years thereafter.  Because of this, I often felt like I was the odd one out of our class.  As the years progressed I started developing friendships with some of the newer students who moved into town, but most of the old ones from earlier childhood always remained in my black box of distrust, with very few exceptions.

The Christian values of practicing love toward the broader neighbor, and having a deep trust in God were instilled in my classmates and me throughout my childhood, in school and in church. The words of Jesus in John 15:13 reminded us that a person can have no greater love than to lay down his life for his friends. In classes, discussions on this subject included making such sacrifices, not only in physical wars, but also in battles for the ideals in which one believes.

We were also taught that marriage between a man and wife is one of the ultimate gifts and also one of the greatest tools for spiritual growth that God has given us in the world in which we live. A love and desire for marriage lay buried deep inside me.

Before joining the Navy I had not committed myself to the Christian faith I had been brought up in, and sometimes felt somewhat brainwashed by my upbringing. I went to church every Sunday, went to chapel every day in school, and had regular religion classes in school. Almost every class incorporated God into the message. I often felt that my faith was a big billiard ball that I was being asked to swallow whole, and could never get it past my mouth no matter how hard I tried.

Right before my senior year in high school, my parents decided to move about 45 minutes away to Perkasie, PA.

Would you like to move with us and go to public school in Perkasie, or move into the high school dorm this year?  my mom asked with my dad listening from the other room. 

I responded after considering the options. I would rather move into the dorm.  In hindsight, it may have been a better choice to expand my horizons into public school, but I have always been a path-of-least resistance type, and I had friends in the dorm that I knew well.

My parents granted my request, and I spent my senior year living in the dorm under the school's very strict supervision.

I was never a stellar student. In fact, I just barely squeaked through high school with my diploma. Almost every teacher I ever had said that I was very bright and if he would just apply himself, he could be an A student.  The truth is that I loved learning, but absolutely hated school. With few exceptions, I had the impression that classes existed solely to meet some hidden time-filling requirement, and the only real learning was assigned as homework, which, by the time I got to it, the eyelids could no longer sustain the compulsory open position.

After school, I moved back in with my parents and spent a year in construction while desperately seeking local companionship. This is an awkward time in life to try to make new friends, when you didn't go to school in the area. I found this out the hard way. All the locals my age seemed to have friends in abundance, so every activity I got involved with ended up attracting the married-with-children crowd. The local church groups I tried out had the are you saved? agenda hidden behind their every conversation, and once they realized I had attended church my entire life and was not a likely convert, they soon lost interest – or maybe I did first. I wanted to clone my friends from school and park them in the house next door. So, I ended up doing a lot of traveling, or inviting my friends up from Bryn Athyn. That pattern can't be sustained at this age either.

Besides friends, I wanted a girlfriend. Though I had several long distance relationships during high school from various vacation towns, I could never manage to find someone local, even in Bryn Athyn. I had grown up believing that marriage was the ultimate prize, and I wanted to find that special someone to share the rest of my life with more than anything. Unfortunately I was probably putting out I'm desperate vibes to every worthy woman within eyesight, repelling them like the Peanuts character Pigpen repels clean.

After almost a year of not finding satisfaction in my work or personal life, I decided to visit the local Navy recruiter. My dad was in the Navy before he married my mom, and he always told me, It was a great experience and I'm glad I did it. Of course I don't think he said that with the intention of encouraging me to join. The thought of college was repulsive to me. Why should I pay someone lots of money and put myself in debt, to go through the learning hell of high school again? No thanks.

I thought I would go to the recruiter with an open mind, and walk away better informed on what my future choices were. Little did I know that the recruiters are master salesmen.