Back in December of 1992, I faced a crisis in my life.
During those days, I was nearing the end of my 13th year in the U.S. Navy Submarine Service, serving on board the USS Simon Bolivar, SSBN 641. If you ever wondered what the alphabet soup stands for, the designation immediately tells you almost everything about the vessel. It’s a submarine (SS), it carries ballistic missiles (B), and it is powered by a nuclear reactor (N). My designation was Electronics Technician, but in truth it was my job to ensure safe operation of the nuclear reactor used to propel the ship and provide electricity.
Ballistic-misslie submarines essentially had one job: To troll around in the ocean and wait for the message none of us hoped would ever come, which was to actually launch our missiles. We didn’t spy on enemy shorelines or hunt down Continue readingby