The Making of a Submarine-Hunting S-3 Viking Crewman
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archived as http://www.stealthskater.com/Documents/Sub_06.doc (also …Sub_06.pdf) => doc pdf URL-doc URL-pdf more on this topic is on the /Military.htm page at doc pdf URL note: because important websites are frequently "here today but gone tomorrow", the following was archived on December 31, 2020. This is NOT an attempt to divert readers any website. Indeed, the reader should only read this back-up copy if it cannot be found at the original author's site. https://www.thedrive.com/the-war-zone/30460/the-making-of-a-submarine-hunting-u-s-navy-s-3- viking-crewman The Making Of A Submarine-Hunting S-3 Viking Crewman This is what it took to become a sub hunter tasked with protecting America's carrier battle groups at the twilight of the Cold War. by Kevin Noonan and Tyler Rogoway / The WarZone / October 16, 2019 The following is the first in a multi-part series (the most in-depth we have published since our Paul Nickell series) about what it was like to train, fly, and fight in the Lockheed S-3 Viking. It's a personal story not just about one man's passion for his profession and his time executing it in the jet but also about the nuts-and-bolts of often misunderstood anti-submarine and anti-surface warfare; what it took to keep Soviet submarines at bay during the twilight years of the Cold War; and on more contemporary issues surrounding the critical art of hunting enemy submarines. It also comes to us from one of The War Zone community's favorite people -- Kevin Noonan, better known as 'Ancient Sub Hunter' in our commenting section and on his colorful Twitter feed. 1 So, without further ado, our deep dive begins, well, at the beginning as our subject set out to accomplish his dream and began to master the cat-and-mouse art of hunting submarines from the sky. A Viking Love Affair For an aircraft originally designed to hunt submarines, the Lockheed S-3 Viking repeatedly impressed the navy it served and those it flew against with its versatility, reliability, mission prowess, and its uncanny ability to evolve. The Viking held her stride no matter what task she was called upon to perform. She served a spectrum of needs within the carrier battle group (CVBG) while eagerly stepping up to the call of the odd jobs assigned by fleet commanders and even serving National political demands. Most importantly, the S-3 performed her primary mission of Anti-Submarine Warfare (ASW) and Anti-Surface Warfare (ASuW) with a finesse that can only be fostered when deeply professional aircrews and maintenance personnel are fused with a durable, forgiving, and well-designed airframe. Twin turbofan engines carried the Viking’s 35,000-to-50,000 pounds and 4 crew to any mission asked of her and kept us airborne for up to 6 hours without the need for refueling. Her variety of sensors and weapons ensured we could detect and destroy targets both beneath and on the surface of the ocean that threatened the CVBG. The tasking required of the S-3 would send her far and wide from the carrier and her 450 knots maximum speed allowed her to get from one place to another at a decent clip. Granted in the jet-age of sexy-fast Tomcats, Phantoms, and Intruders, 450 knots was relatively slow. But so are submarines. As one of the four souls onboard the Viking, I was the sole enlisted man sitting behind the pilot and co-pilot/COTAC (Co-Tactical Coordinator) sharing the aft cockpit with the TACCO (Tactical Coordinator). My primary job was operating the acoustic, radar, and forward-looking infrared (FLIR) systems. My official title was SENSO (Sensor Operator). I loved my job. Kevin alongside his beloved S-3 while aboard the carrier. 2 Dreams Of Submarines And Wings I was born into an Air Force officer’s family. The obvious question follows and was asked repeatedly over my lifetime: “Why then did you join the Navy?” Clearly, there is a touch of the sea and sailor in the bloodstream since my father had initially joined the Coast Guard and served in the North Atlantic on a weather observation cutter. But the aviation gene won the day when he headed off to a commission in the USAF once he completed college. The skies of my memory are filled with the scenes and sounds of B-52s, C-124s, KC-135s, and F- 105s. These daily sights along with all the visiting aircraft (not to mention the view from my front yard of the north end of the General Dynamics plant) ensured the activation of my own predisposition to flying. However, an odd mutation arose one day in the library of my 5th grade schoolhouse. While scanning the shelves for something to read about airplanes, I discovered a book about submarines. As the formative years progressed, aviation remained the primary influence while a love for the submarine continued to germinate. Being the baby of 6 kids and 2 years’ distant from my nearest sibling, I would lock myself in my room and read any book I could get my hands on about submarines. I found myself particularly fascinated with the Battle of the Atlantic during World War II. This rising infatuation with the submarine and my tendency to be a loner would both serve me well (and not so well) in the quickly approaching years of adulthood and the direction my life would take. There was no question that I would join the Military. But which branch? My oldest brother headed off to jump out of airplanes with the Army. My oldest sister became a linguist in the USAF. My next oldest sister headed off to the USN as a Hospital Corpsman. Another sister became a Personnelman. But it was my other older brother’s chosen career that would introduce me to a field and aircraft that, surprisingly, I’d neither heard of nor seen: Aviation Anti-submarine Warfare Operator (AW) and the S-3A Viking. Kevin in a Huey at the Carswell AFB Base Exchange parking lot circa 1974. 3 Training With A Cherry On Top I had no idea that my competing, dissimilar loves had been fused together a decade before into the singular AW rating (Naval Aircrewman). Yet in the final months of decision making, I remained torn between becoming a submariner or an aviator. When I finally did make the decision to become an AW, I felt I needed to take a path different from the one my Naval Aircrewman brother had taken. Instead of active duty, I chose the Naval Reserves (NAVRES). Instead of the S-3 Viking which did not have an established Reserve squadron as the Patrol Squadron Navy had, I would be an Acoustic Sensor Operator in the Lockheed P-3B Orion. Even as a Reservist, I would go to all the initial active duty training required of regular Navy sailors. A week after I graduated from high school, I was on my way to boot camp at Great Lakes, Illinois in the early summer of 1984. I then headed to that magnificent (and terrifying) place: the home of Naval Aviation, Pensacola, Florida. There in Naval Aircrewman Candidate School, I earned the right to fly in naval aircraft. (And boy, did I earn that right!) It was there I learned how to aggressively exceed my established self-limitations. The endless running through the Naval Air Station’s historic streets and the challenge of the beach-side obstacle course was as exhilarating as it was exhausting. I was overwhelmed with the marching, inspections, and workouts on the famous sea wall where in decades past the seaplanes of a then-fledgling Naval Aviation cadre were taxied down ramps and into the bay for launching. But it was the required water survival training that would force me to run headlong into a reality my new employer (the U.S. Navy) had not yet discovered. I was terrified of water. Yeah, I know what you’re thinking. What-the-hell was wrong with me? Joining the Navy was bad enough. But then I chose to go into a field that required I get thrown into the very environment that made my soul tremble. And the greatest dragon I would have to face was waiting for me in a building I ran past every day. As a child, I experienced a near-drowning. Fully aware I would have to come to terms with my fear, I decided to take swimming lessons a few months prior to my departure for bootcamp. While it helped, I remained a relatively weak swimmer. Thankfully, Pensacola anticipated that some of its prospective flyers would not have been born with the requisite fin and gills that so many “natural” swimmers seem to be adorned with. Each time I entered any body of water, I was required to wear the “cherry” red helmet. This bold covering assured that the water survival instructors would keep an extra wary eye on the tenuous swimmer wearing it. With a beacon on head, my journey began. In days past, all officer and enlisted candidates were required to pass a mile-long swim qualification in Pensacola Bay wearing a flight suit, helmet, and flight boots. When I arrived in 1984, they had moved this critical qualification to one of the indoor pools. You had to swim without stopping to rest, without putting your foot on the bottom, and without touching the side of the pool. Along with these difficult demands, the presence of many future aircrewmen swimming around the pool churned up what felt like a sea state of six! I was pretty sure the bay would have been the better locale.