Under Pressure. Richard Humphreys. Читать онлайн. Newlib. NEWLIB.NET

Автор: Richard Humphreys
Издательство: HarperCollins
Серия:
Жанр произведения: Биографии и Мемуары
Год издания: 0
isbn: 9780008313081
Скачать книгу
navigational systems, electronic warfare, and radio and sonar systems – quite enough to fry your brain. This was followed by radar training, which I struggled with; it was all blips and blobs to me, a predetermined mess on a screen. I’m still very much in awe of air-traffic controllers and how they manage flights in and out of the major airports and monitor the sky.

      The accommodation at the base was four to a largish room. There were no kit inspections, no hassle from the staff, a complete change from the horrors of Part 1 basic training. It wasn’t without its moments, though. In the room next door a trainee submariner from Aberdeen scared us to death one night, returning back to base well and truly hammered, waving a gun around and threatening to shoot someone. We became scared very quickly, and amid all the screaming and panic I found him with his back to me. I gave him a hefty kick behind his right kneecap and he collapsed like an old block of flats being demolished, straight down in a big heap. As he hit the floor the gun flew out of his hand, and we pinned him down until security arrived and took him off to the detention quarters. Just like CPO Jenkins, he was never seen again.

      The final stage of submarine training ended with four pressurised ascents of the 100-foot submarine escape water training tank (SETT), the enormous concrete tower that dominates the skyline on the Gosport side of the Solent as you leave Portsmouth Harbour. All the training had been leading to this point, for this was the test, the ultimate trial of nerve. This section of submarine training in the tank had seen a few deaths over the years, and put the fear of God into every young submariner courageous or stupid enough to attempt it.

      No one had told me about the hissing sounds as the air rushed in. I sat there holding my nose, clearing my ears and looking like a startled child, praying that we’d get to the prescribed depth pronto. The air temperature increased and I started feeling exceedingly wary of where this was going. Soon enough we reached the required depth of 100 feet and the air temperature equalised. The instructor announced, after what seemed an eternity of five minutes, that he would slowly release the pressure and that the temperature might drop. We finally returned to normal pressure at sea level and I clambered out disorientated, nauseous and nervous; ‘shitting conkers’ is the expression that comes to mind. Next stop, the tank.

      Next up came another big test – the free ascent from 60 feet, something that filled me with abject terror. Maintaining exhalation from that depth seemed to me a close call, but the instructor informed me that if I ran out of puff, and if I felt like I couldn’t breathe out anymore, then I needn’t worry – I should just keep blowing, as I’d still have 25 per cent of my lung capacity left. Of course, I didn’t believe him. Water pressure increases the lower you go; at a depth of 60 feet, I’d be experiencing 30 pounds per square inch of pressure on my body. In addition, the greater the pressure, the greater the chance of a burst eardrum while equalising to the pressure in the tank. All of this information turned me into a nervous wreck as the water began to enter the chamber in preparation for the mock escape. I cleared my ears, and then I was next. ‘Take a good, deep breath,’ someone bellowed at me as I ducked down and pushed out into the tank. Within seconds a barrel-chested, slightly pot-bellied instructor appeared from a diving bell in the tank to make sure I was breathing out correctly. Meanwhile, in my head I was screaming: Shit, let go of me before I run out of puff and my lungs give way!

      The final part of these two days of hell was an ascent from 100 feet, with a simulated evacuation from a replica submarine escape tower. This involved climbing into a tiny compartment beneath the 100-foot tower in a hooded pressure suit. I clambered in, having only half-listened to the instructor, overcome by an adrenaline rush and heart palpitations. I couldn’t yet vote, I was about the age at which I could learn