Sherry Sontag;Christopher Drew by Blind Man's Bluff: The Untold Story Of American Submarine Espionage
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the submarine force itself, the admirals leading the Atlantic and Pacific Fleets had taken control of this business of submarine spying, running the show, making the assignments. At their orders, subs were lurking underwater, periscopes peeking above the waves, watching through all but the iciest months of the year as the Soviets put their newest boats through their paces. This was also a great way for submariners to maintain readiness for battle, not just in war games with friendly forces but by driving up into Soviet waters and facing the adversary.
The top priority of any spy sub captain was what the Navy called "indications and warning." Captains were supposed to forget about caution, forget about radio silence, and flash a message home from the Barents or the Sea of Japan if they picked up any sign that the Soviet Navy was mobilizing, perhaps preparing to attack. U.S. spy subs also were now using much more sophisticated versions of Austin's "ears" to scan for Soviet missile tests. And submarines, antennas at the ready, were routinely picking up the chatter that told the U.S. Navy how many Soviet ships and subs were ready for sea and what their tactics might be in wartime.
Increasingly, fleet admirals consulted with Naval Intelligence, becoming partners in espionage. Intelligence officers invited other Navy men to train alongside them, noting in one invitation that they were engaging in the world's "second-oldest profession," one with "even fewer morals than the first."
Most top government officials were given little if any indication of the risks the sub force was taking, or of what a strange game of machismo was being played. While President Dwight D. Eisenhower had only hesitantly approved U-2 spy flights high over Russia, fearful of aggravating Soviet Premier Nikita Khrushchev, many submarine captains believed it was their job-and forget the niceties of international law-to drive straight into Soviet territorial waters. Fleet commanders graded the captains on how long they kept their "eyes and ears" up out of the water. The more daring the attempt, the higher the grade. This had become a contest of sorts, a test of bravado for the captains, their crews, and their craft. And for most of the captains, these days of unfettered risk would forever mark the high point of their careers. To he sure there was stress and lots of it. Some veteran commanders lost twenty pounds running these long western Pacific deployments-"Westpacs," in the trade. Nobody could tell ahead of time who would be able to take the pressure and who wouldn't.
Gudgeon shoved off from Yokosuka for her turn at the Soviets with Norman G. "Buzz" Bessac at the helm. Already he had led Gudgeon, undetected, on a reconnaissance mission beneath a group of Soviet ships operating in icy northern waters. Now, he was leading his sub straight into enemy territory, his first command in these dangerous waters. But the thirty-four-year-old lieutenant commander was here in the first place, was on submarines at all, because he craved adventure. In the year and a half since he had taken over Gudgeon, he had convinced his crew that he was one of those "go to hell and back" captains, a man who wanted his sub to make her mark among the lumbering propeller planes, the U-2 jets, and the landlocked listening stations that were keeping an eye on the Soviets from all angles.
In that, he had a lot in common with the spooks on board his boat. They had their pick of assignments, these men who were the Navy's chief snoops and eavesdroppers. They could have ridden Navy spy planes and been home every night in time for dinner, sleeping with their wives instead of dozing cheek to toe with a half-dozen men and a torpedo or two. But for the spooks, just about everything about submarines seemed to signal importance and drama. They sneaked aboard with uniforms, like those of Cochino's Austin, altered to hear radiomen's sparks instead of their own insignias, the telltale lightning rods and
The top priority of any spy sub captain was what the Navy called "indications and warning." Captains were supposed to forget about caution, forget about radio silence, and flash a message home from the Barents or the Sea of Japan if they picked up any sign that the Soviet Navy was mobilizing, perhaps preparing to attack. U.S. spy subs also were now using much more sophisticated versions of Austin's "ears" to scan for Soviet missile tests. And submarines, antennas at the ready, were routinely picking up the chatter that told the U.S. Navy how many Soviet ships and subs were ready for sea and what their tactics might be in wartime.
Increasingly, fleet admirals consulted with Naval Intelligence, becoming partners in espionage. Intelligence officers invited other Navy men to train alongside them, noting in one invitation that they were engaging in the world's "second-oldest profession," one with "even fewer morals than the first."
Most top government officials were given little if any indication of the risks the sub force was taking, or of what a strange game of machismo was being played. While President Dwight D. Eisenhower had only hesitantly approved U-2 spy flights high over Russia, fearful of aggravating Soviet Premier Nikita Khrushchev, many submarine captains believed it was their job-and forget the niceties of international law-to drive straight into Soviet territorial waters. Fleet commanders graded the captains on how long they kept their "eyes and ears" up out of the water. The more daring the attempt, the higher the grade. This had become a contest of sorts, a test of bravado for the captains, their crews, and their craft. And for most of the captains, these days of unfettered risk would forever mark the high point of their careers. To he sure there was stress and lots of it. Some veteran commanders lost twenty pounds running these long western Pacific deployments-"Westpacs," in the trade. Nobody could tell ahead of time who would be able to take the pressure and who wouldn't.
Gudgeon shoved off from Yokosuka for her turn at the Soviets with Norman G. "Buzz" Bessac at the helm. Already he had led Gudgeon, undetected, on a reconnaissance mission beneath a group of Soviet ships operating in icy northern waters. Now, he was leading his sub straight into enemy territory, his first command in these dangerous waters. But the thirty-four-year-old lieutenant commander was here in the first place, was on submarines at all, because he craved adventure. In the year and a half since he had taken over Gudgeon, he had convinced his crew that he was one of those "go to hell and back" captains, a man who wanted his sub to make her mark among the lumbering propeller planes, the U-2 jets, and the landlocked listening stations that were keeping an eye on the Soviets from all angles.
In that, he had a lot in common with the spooks on board his boat. They had their pick of assignments, these men who were the Navy's chief snoops and eavesdroppers. They could have ridden Navy spy planes and been home every night in time for dinner, sleeping with their wives instead of dozing cheek to toe with a half-dozen men and a torpedo or two. But for the spooks, just about everything about submarines seemed to signal importance and drama. They sneaked aboard with uniforms, like those of Cochino's Austin, altered to hear radiomen's sparks instead of their own insignias, the telltale lightning rods and
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