Ignorance is bliss. To minimize bliss, the military and its contractors want to highlight the risks of operating, repairing, boarding, looking at, or thinking about nuclear submarines. First, of course, is the cancer. I only need limited radiation worker training so that I can go into the engine room while the boat is underway. All I really need to do is be wary of posted signs, NEVER touch ANYTHING, and rely on the real professionals to keep me safe. But first... a few hours of hurriedly cramming with an exam to follow the next day. . Not one of those lightweight multiple choice quizzes where "None/all of the above" is the default choice. No, this was an 8 page monster with essay, fill in the blink, and scenario questions. Want to know a secret? I passed, and all I really know is to look out for yellow and magenta signs. Want to know another secret? I dominate exams, so no problem.
Next up was Emergency Air Breathing (EAB) training. Combine the masks fire fighters wear with a manifold supply system like the emergency breathing systems on commercial aircraft, and you're pretty close. Nifty concept, and truly handy in a pinch. Much less than nifty trivia: the genesis of this training was our company president becoming aware of a recent fatal accident on the Russian nuclear attack submarine Nerpa. Around 20 men died when the firefighting system malfunctioned and utilized Halon (or a similar suppressant) to turn a perfectly good berthing area in the torpedo room into a crypt. Most of the dead were (here it comes) contractors. Right, the shipbuilder/design guys. This information was tactfully and tactically withheld from Wifey until... she reads this. Yeah, I paid close attention to the EAB training.
That left only escape suit training. This was really too much. So, the boat is floundering or stuck on the bottom. Correct, the bottom of the ocean. There is an escape chamber on the boat which, when filled with seawater and equalized to ambient pressure, allows the stout crew to exit a hatch by two's in a sick reverse mimicry of Noah's ark. Wait, you can't go into that chamber without your escape suit on, you'll freeze, drown, and be crushed by sea pressure. All at the same time! To don your escape suit, follow several dozen steps that I don't remember. If you look like one of the contamination response guys from Monsters Inc., you've done well. Enter the chamber. Pray your escape partner is a master chief or commander and knows what they are doing. Plug your air hose into the breathing manifold. DON'T LET GO, or the air pressure will break the connection. Grab the handhold and wait for the tank to flood. DON'T LET GO, your suit is buoyant and you will float to the top of the chamber, breaking your air connection if you are careless. Is the water making you cold? Don't worry, you're probably still seating! When pressure is equalized, the hatch opens. FOR GOD'S SAKE, LET GO! You rocket to the surface (watch your head on the way out), and are now ready to begin Phase II. Another dozen steps will inflate your internal life jacket, deploy a small raft, and put you in it, ready for rescue.
Did I mention that I'm not even qualified to wear a lifeline harness in my own shipyard?
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