Читать книгу Under Pressure. Living Life and Avoiding Death on a Nuclear Submarine онлайн

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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.

Before I started, I had to sit in a decompression chamber that sits near to the tank itself to make sure my ears could endure the pressure I’d shortly experience in 100 feet of water. Then I was bundled into the chamber with around half a dozen other terrified souls and we waited for pressurisation to commence.

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.