Sherry Sontag;Christopher Drew by Blind Man's Bluff: The Untold Story Of American Submarine Espionage Page B
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the Naval Reactors Branch-Rickover's realm. If the president could have Air Force One, Rickover would have his NR-l.
Unlike Woods Hole's Alvin, which was completed in 1965 and was only 22 feet long, NR-1 was to be 137 feet, nearly half the size of an attack sub. NR-1 would be able to go down to 3,000 feet. Equipped with underwater lights, cameras, and a grappling arm to retrieve small objects, it also would have the potential to do some spying. One of the chief design problems was finding some way to shield the nuclear reactor in the NR-1. Standard sub reactors were shielded with a foot of lead on either end. But that would have made the NR-1 too heavy. Instead, Rickover, Craven, and the other designers decided it would have the standard lead shielding only in front where it faced crew compartments. The entire thirteen-foot area of the sub behind the reactor would be closed off permanently and flooded. The idea was to allow the wall of water to absorb any escaping radiation and work as a substitute for lead shielding. Craven had no doubt that environmentalists would cringe at the plan, but both he and Rickover believed it was entirely workable. Thirteen feet of water has the same molecular weight as one foot of lead. But when NR-1 was submerged, the water would add no weight at all-when water displaces an equal amount of water, the effective weight is zero.
But before NR-1 could be built, it had to be paid for, and right now there was little room in the budget for a mini-submarine among the plans for DSRVs and Sea Labs. The problem didn't faze Rickover, and he solved it at a meeting with Craven; Rear Admiral Levering Smith, Raborn's top deputy on Polaris; and Robert Morse, the assistant secretary of the Navy for research and development.
"You have any money we can get started with right now?" Rickover asked. Craven answered that his deep-submergence group could spare $10 million of its research and development money. Smith noted that the Polaris program had about $10 million of unused ship construction funds.
"How much is this submarine going to cost?" Morse asked.
Without hesitation, Rickover answered: $20 million. Morse went on to outline the tortuous process by which ships are normally built: contract definition, bidding, congressional approvals. Rickover cut him off before he could finish. "Just leave all that to me." Then Rickover turned to Craven and directed, "You call up Electric Boat tomorrow and tell them to get started."
Craven, Smith, and Morse exchanged looks of disbelief. Nobody believed this could be done for $20 million-the budget soon grew to $30 million. They also saw no way that Congress was going to stand for this. Less than a week later, Rickover called Craven and told him that the president was going to announce that afternoon that NR-1 was going to be built.
Upon hearing the news, Morse moved quickly from a state of shock into a state of panic. Up until that moment, NR-1 had been little more than an admiral's fantasy; indeed, Rickover had given only sketchy accounts of his plan to Paul H. Nitze, the secretary of the Navy, and Robert S. McNamara, the secretary of Defense. Though both had approved it, Morse knew Congress was not going to like hearing about a major project this way. As soon as the president announced the NR-1, the House Committee on Appropriations hastily called a hearing.
Craven, on Rickover's orders, had just a few days to come up with an official mission statement, a full-bore cost-benefit analysis, and a detailed study as to why the Navy needed the mini-sub.
"Well, you know, Admiral, that study really doesn't exist," Craven answered.
"It will exist by the time the hearing takes place," Rickover barked back.
Now the existence of NR-1, and perhaps his own career, rested on Craven's ability to spin visions from a black hole. He needed to prove that NR-1 was a crucial investment, one worth $30 million.
The appropriations committee wasn't fooled, but in the end it had no choice but to give
Unlike Woods Hole's Alvin, which was completed in 1965 and was only 22 feet long, NR-1 was to be 137 feet, nearly half the size of an attack sub. NR-1 would be able to go down to 3,000 feet. Equipped with underwater lights, cameras, and a grappling arm to retrieve small objects, it also would have the potential to do some spying. One of the chief design problems was finding some way to shield the nuclear reactor in the NR-1. Standard sub reactors were shielded with a foot of lead on either end. But that would have made the NR-1 too heavy. Instead, Rickover, Craven, and the other designers decided it would have the standard lead shielding only in front where it faced crew compartments. The entire thirteen-foot area of the sub behind the reactor would be closed off permanently and flooded. The idea was to allow the wall of water to absorb any escaping radiation and work as a substitute for lead shielding. Craven had no doubt that environmentalists would cringe at the plan, but both he and Rickover believed it was entirely workable. Thirteen feet of water has the same molecular weight as one foot of lead. But when NR-1 was submerged, the water would add no weight at all-when water displaces an equal amount of water, the effective weight is zero.
But before NR-1 could be built, it had to be paid for, and right now there was little room in the budget for a mini-submarine among the plans for DSRVs and Sea Labs. The problem didn't faze Rickover, and he solved it at a meeting with Craven; Rear Admiral Levering Smith, Raborn's top deputy on Polaris; and Robert Morse, the assistant secretary of the Navy for research and development.
"You have any money we can get started with right now?" Rickover asked. Craven answered that his deep-submergence group could spare $10 million of its research and development money. Smith noted that the Polaris program had about $10 million of unused ship construction funds.
"How much is this submarine going to cost?" Morse asked.
Without hesitation, Rickover answered: $20 million. Morse went on to outline the tortuous process by which ships are normally built: contract definition, bidding, congressional approvals. Rickover cut him off before he could finish. "Just leave all that to me." Then Rickover turned to Craven and directed, "You call up Electric Boat tomorrow and tell them to get started."
Craven, Smith, and Morse exchanged looks of disbelief. Nobody believed this could be done for $20 million-the budget soon grew to $30 million. They also saw no way that Congress was going to stand for this. Less than a week later, Rickover called Craven and told him that the president was going to announce that afternoon that NR-1 was going to be built.
Upon hearing the news, Morse moved quickly from a state of shock into a state of panic. Up until that moment, NR-1 had been little more than an admiral's fantasy; indeed, Rickover had given only sketchy accounts of his plan to Paul H. Nitze, the secretary of the Navy, and Robert S. McNamara, the secretary of Defense. Though both had approved it, Morse knew Congress was not going to like hearing about a major project this way. As soon as the president announced the NR-1, the House Committee on Appropriations hastily called a hearing.
Craven, on Rickover's orders, had just a few days to come up with an official mission statement, a full-bore cost-benefit analysis, and a detailed study as to why the Navy needed the mini-sub.
"Well, you know, Admiral, that study really doesn't exist," Craven answered.
"It will exist by the time the hearing takes place," Rickover barked back.
Now the existence of NR-1, and perhaps his own career, rested on Craven's ability to spin visions from a black hole. He needed to prove that NR-1 was a crucial investment, one worth $30 million.
The appropriations committee wasn't fooled, but in the end it had no choice but to give
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