Under Ice: Waldo Lyon and the Development of the Arctic Submarine
By William M, Leary. College Station, TX: Texas A&M Press, 1999. 320 pp. Photos. Notes. Bib. Index. $32.95 ($29.65).
Reviewed by Captain Don Walsh, U.S. Navy (Retired)
In early 1959, I reported for duty at the Naval Electronics Laboratory (NEL) in San Diego. In 1945 NEL had been created from parts of Navy-civilian research-and-development groups that had worked at Point Loma during the war. The place was full of talented and colorful characters. It was here I first met Dr. Waldo Lyon, a remarkable man in a remarkable place. This book is an homage to a man and his work, as well as to a time and a place long gone. Having written several books on military history and technology, William Leary handles the subject of this book very well. His work was aided by personal interviews with Lyon and many of the submariners who sailed the Arctic with him.
The first chapter traces Lyon's early years and how he joined the Point Loma research and development group just before World War II. A physicist, he worked on antisubmarine warfare problems relating to underwater sound. Eventually, he became involved with the highly variable properties of sound in cold waters. It was December 1946, during Operation Highjump in the Antarctic, when Lyon saw his first sea ice. Also here he made his first submarine trip into ice on board the Sennet (SS-408). By the end of the 1940s, he had gone on several Arctic expeditions on board various ships, including some of the first diesel submarine operations in those waters.
Leary's accounts of Lyon's submarine voyages to the Arctic Ocean are interspersed with his continuing battles with all levels of Navy bureaucracy. Lyon was awarded the highest Navy and Department of Defense awards, as well as a medal from President Kennedy for his contributions to the Navy, Yet throughout his professional life he faced continuing bureaucratic difficulties in getting his programs accepted by the Navy.
Nuclear submarines finally provided the means to go under the ice and stay there as long as necessary. Lyon was on board these submarines from the Nautilus's (SSN-571) first under-ice penetrations in 1957 to the experiments using the ice-configured Sturgeon (SSN-637)-class subs through the early 1980s. He made the trips when something new and different was being tried.
Waldo Lyon's last under-ice run was in 1981 on board the Silversides (SSN-751), 35 years after his first ice penetration in the Sennett. In 1984 he gave up his position as the director of the NEL Arctic Submarine Laboratory (which he founded in the early 1960s). He stayed on, however, as chief research scientist,
I last saw Lyon in late 1997. The Explorers Club presented its Lowell Thomas Award to Waldo and four former nuclear submarine captains (his shipmates) who made pioneering Arctic trips in the 1950s and 1960s. At age 84, the old man's fire still was there—but much of his life's work was fading away. The Soviet Union was gone, the threat from the Arctic was greatly reduced, his beloved Arctic Submarine Laboratory was closed, and the last fully ice-capable submarines would be retired by the Navy in 2000. Yet, he got up that night and urged once again that the Navy not give up its hard-won under-ice submarine capability. It was Waldo Lyon in full flower, Six months later he was dead.
This book is an important contribution to the history of submarine warfare. But more important, it is a cautionary tale for naval planners who believe the polar regions are not important for the exercise of naval power. That is until the Chinese Navy sends the "Fortunate Dragon #4" under the North Pole, or when one of the new German 212 fuel-cell submarines spends three weeks under the Arctic ice.
Captain Walsh writes the bimonthly column “Oceans” for Proceedings, and is the director of International Maritime, Inc.
Wake of the Perdido Star
Gene Hackman and Daniel Lenihan. New York: Newmarket Press, 1999. 380 pp. $24.95 ($22.45).
Reviewed by Stephen Coonts
Wake of the Perdido Star is a swashbuckling sea story, and that alone makes it a rarity. Patrick O'Brian is the only non-romance writer selling sailing ship tales in any numbers these days, which is sad. Swashbuckling in the grand tradition of Errol Flynn and Douglas Fairbanks, Jr., can be a lot of fun.
This story of nautical derring-do begins with 17-year-old Jack O'Reilly and his family emigrating from Protestant New England in 1805 to escape religious persecution. The family books passage to Havana on the Perdido Star, which is, predictably, commanded by an incompetent, senile alcoholic. In Cuba, the family is cheated of the mother's inheritance and the parents are murdered by a dastardly don. Young Jack escapes to the Perdido Star, which sails the next morning.
The bulk of the book is devoted to the Star's ill-fated three-year journey around the world. The ship nearly sinks rounding Cape Horn, and finally is wrecked on a South Sea island by a typhoon. The surviving crew members ally themselves with the natives and fight successfully to free them from the oppression of racist, sexist Dutch free-booters.
The Dutch ship sinks during the battle. The days look dark indeed for our fearless castaways, who are slowly but surely becoming a fighting team under the leadership of the maturing Jack O'Reilly, who proves himself an adept sailor, surgeon, salvage diver, and fighting captain.
Despite the best efforts of a couple of traitors—who ultimately get theirs in the end—Jack and crew do some serious underwater salvage and shipyard work, mating the wrecks of the two ships together. The resulting vessel is so seaworthy the crew sails it to Manila, and from there across the Indian Ocean and around the Cape of Good Hope, fighting a couple of sea battles along the way—all the way to Cuba, where Jack at last gets his revenge.
Thankfully, the authors have salted their tale with plenty of action, buckets of blood, and some fine sea battles that, alas, are given insufficient space. Much can be forgiven a first novel, which this is: still, the writing often is wooden and most of the characters do not exhibit much life. And much of the dialogue is written in the vernacular, which often makes it difficult to read—and once deciphered, is pretty pedestrian.
Co-author Gene Hackman is indeed the famous movie actor. Underwater archaeologist Daniel Lenihan is the head of the Submerged Cultural Resources Unit of the U.S. National Park Service, which explains why the diving scenes get the attention and detail the sea battles lack. The two are neighbors in Santa Fe, New Mexico, and worked together for three years on this book. While Hackman and Lenihan are not in Patrick O'Brian's league, I would agree with novelist Clive Cussler's assessment: "a fascinating read you can't help but enjoy."
Mr. Coonts is the author of many novels, including Flight of the Intruder (Naval Institute Press, 1986) and Cuba (St. Martin’s Press, 1999).
Desert Shield at Sea: What the Navy Really Did
By Marvin Pokrant. Westport. CT: Greenwood Press, 1999. 256 pp. Illus. Maps. Notes. Bib. Index. $59.95 ($56.00).
Reviewed by Admiral Richard Macke, U.S. Navy (Retired)
Mr. Pokrant presents a detailed, highly accurate account of the naval force preparations for Desert Storm. He was present in the Persian Gulf as the Center for Naval Analyses representative to Commander Seventh Fleet/Commander Naval Forces Central Command; the level of his knowledge and the veracity of his facts are unquestionable. It is a most interesting book, easy to read, and the author takes the time to explain all acronyms and military technology. The layman can enjoy this book while learning essential facts about the capabilities of our sea services.
This book is the first volume of a two-volume series. The second volume (yet to be published) will deal with Desert Storm. The primary emphasis of Desert Shield at Sea is on the maritime interception operations, preparations for the air war, and planning for amphibious operations. Considerable background on both the military and political aspects (albeit focused on the Navy/Seventh Fleet perspective) of each of these areas is presented.
The successful struggle to implement maritime interception operations (MIOs) effectively is a masterful checklist for integrating coalition forces. From the Pandora's box of differing political masters, wavering political policy, conflicting rules of engagement, and the other hurdles that beset the MIO operations, evolved a very workable concept adopted by all the naval forces involved in this particularly difficult mission. And unsurprisingly, the seamen involved in conducting the operations helped develop the solutions.
Planning amphibious operations became a constant tug-of-war between the amphibious forces, the naval command structure, and the real war plan of General Norman Schwartzkopf. The desire to reconnoiter the northern Persian Gulf in preparation for an amphibious assault (in fact, the absolute necessity of doing so) never was approved by Central Command. According to Mr. Pokrant, naval personnel in theater were not even aware of Schwartzkopf's overall plan until just prior to its execution. Though this level of secrecy was arguably necessary, it did create some intriguing political battles inside and outside the theater as to numbers, tactics, and training for an amphibious assault.
The author gives an excellent discussion of the trials and tribulations involved in maturing the Joint Forces Air Component Commander (JFACC) concept. This was a very troublesome idea to the Navy, and it took the wisdom of both Vice Admirals Henry Mauz and Stanley Arthur to overcome the many service prejudices. The tactical differences between the Air Force and the Navy in the conduct of an air war were magnified, argued, and solved during the course of Desert Shield. From this sometimes hotbed of dispute, the JFACC concept that is employed so very effectively today was developed.
Desert Shield probably accomplished more toward the evolution of true joint warfare than any other single event in our military history. It demonstrated that our architecture for joint warfare was sorely lacking. Problems with distribution of the air tasking order, lack of sufficient and common communications between forces, differing mechanisms and concepts for control, and whether naval command elements should be located with the joint commander or at sea—all were largely part solved during the build up to Desert Storm. Mr. Pokrant has done a masterful job of telling us how it was accomplished and how difficult it really was.
Admiral Macke was Commander Carrier Group 4 during the Gulf War. He retired in 1996 as Commander-in-Chief, U.S. Pacific Command.