Author: FTB1(SS)

41 Cold War Sentinels: USS Von Steuben SSBN-632

The story of the USS Von Steuben begins, fittingly, with a name from the Revolutionary War. Friedrich Wilhelm von Steuben (born September 17, 1730), was the Prussian officer who made Washington’s ragged army into something resembling a fighting force. It was his drill manual, delivered in blunt and precise language, that gave Americans discipline when they needed it most. Two centuries later, another Von Steuben was commissioned into service, this one made of steel and reactor power, carrying sixteen ballistic missiles rather than a musket and bayonet. Her purpose was no less vital. She was built to keep the peace by being invisible, silent, and ready to deliver destruction if the order ever came.

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USS Guavina’s Fierce Attack – September 15, 1944

The USS Guavina had been made ready in Brisbane by the end of July 1944. The submarine repair unit had done their work well, the boat coming out of the hands of the tenders with new IFF radar, frequency modulation gear, engine rings to keep down the smoke, and a coat of light gray paint that looked sharp in the Australian sun. The torpedoes—sixteen steam and eight electric—were all freshly overhauled, and the crew took some pride in how clean they looked in the racks. The men themselves were in good spirits, though weary of the endless cycle of patrols, refits, and training. Still, when the lines came off on August 16, they felt the familiar mix of relief and apprehension. Relief at leaving behind the routine of shore duty, apprehension at what waited for them in enemy waters.

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Growlers Legendary Down-the-Throat Torpedo Attack of September 12, 1944

The night sea was calm, almost deceptively so. A thin scatter of clouds drifted across the stars, and the horizon was a dark, featureless smear. Below the surface lay silence, but on the bridge of Growler, men kept their eyes sweeping and their nerves sharp. This was wolf pack country now, waters between Luzon and Formosa, where Japanese convoys crept through the straits and where three American submarines waited to pounce.

In the conning tower, red lamps threw their dull glow over the dials and the men hunched around them. Commander Thomas B. “Ben” Oakley Jr. stood steady, his voice measured, his presence calm. He had a knack for that, keeping himself even while every other heart on the boat ran a little faster.

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