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From the S&S archives:
An inferno of heat and sound, but fit for a 'snipe'

Rob Jagodzinski / ©S&S
A few scenes from the depths of the USS Wisconsin. Purchase reprint

ABOARD THE USS WISCONSIN — In a confined space seven decks deep in the bowels of the ship, heat, noise, diesel and curses foul the air.

Chalk-faced sailors in oil-smudged T-shirts twist dials, eyeball gauges and peer through furnace peepholes to study the orange flames that swirl within. They sweat and swear while working to keep the ship alive.

If the bridge is a battleship's brain, the 16-inch gun turrets her brawn, and the combat center her nervous system, then the adjoining fire rooms and engine rooms must be the vessel's heart and soul.

The fire and engine rooms lie in an underworld where sunlight never falls. The brick furnaces, used to boil the steam that turn the engines, heat the rooms like giant radiators. The air seldom cools below 100 degrees.

Sounds of hard-working machinery fill the cramped engine spaces with a deafening clatter, turning the normal tone of voice into a shout.

The Wisconsin employs eight boilers to power her four main engines, which generate 212,000 horsepower.

Gears link the engines to a transmission that spins four 450-feet-long propeller shafts, each as big around as a sewer pipe. The shafts drive four screws — two 18 feet across and two 17 feet across — that can propel the 59,000-ton battleship through the sea at 33-plus knots.

En route to the Persian Gulf in August, the Wisconsin crossed the Atlantic from its home station of Norfolk, Va., in 10 days at a sustained speed of 25 knots.

Although space-age technology reigns in her weapons systems, such as the Tomahawk and Harpoon anti-ship missiles, as well as the computerized, anti-missile Gatling guns and her combat engagement center boasts state-of-the-art radar, sonar and weapons-tracking gear, the ship's power plant has not been altered since it was launched on Dec. 7, 1943. "It's World War II vintage," said Chief Warrant Officer Bob Smith of the Wisconsin's boiler room. "They're the original boilers and their condition is fantastic," said the 37-year-old boiler material officer from Virginia Beach, Va. But "(when) running the boilers ... you have to be gentle."

To run those boilers the ship carries 2.5 million gallons of fuel, burning 50,000 gallons of it daily in 11-feet-wide furnaces. The boilers also power generators on the ship that run electrical systems on board.

SMITH NOTED that like other American consumers, "The fuel crunch caused by the Gulf crisis hit us too. Our fuel went up from $1.07 a gallon to $1.47 in the last month." That means the ship now pays $73,500 for one day's fuel — up from $53,500 a month ago.

Petty Officer 1st Class Jim Gilchrist, 28, is the ship's oil king, in charge of the Wisconsin's fuel supply.

The Mobile, Ala., native also monitors the incoming water and fresh water on board. Aside from the steam that powers the engines, the Wisconsin's crew uses 45,000 gallons of water a day for what Gilchrist calls hotel services — meals, showers, laundry and such.

Gilchrist and the ship's other 155 boiler technicians, as well as the battleship's 100 engine technicians, are nicknamed "snipes" after the reclusive shorebirds. Navy snipes usually stay in the fire or engine rooms, seldom venturing topside.

Sailors who man the power plant are also said to belong to the "black-shoe Navy" because their shoes tend to get greasy, said Smith. "We're generally not the cleanest people in the world," he added.

Aside from getting dirty, working in the power plant means putting up with the noise and high temperatures. The sailors wear ear plugs to muffle the engine noise, and drink a lot of icewater to stay cool.

Petty Officer 2nd Class Albert Black, 35, uses an electronic, hand-held thermometer to "monitor the heat stress in the fire and boiler rooms."

However, heat and noise seem rather harmless when compared to some other dangers of working in the power plant. "You're playing with fire," said Petty Officer 3rd Class Glen Harris, a boiler technician from Seattle. Harris, 25, and others on his crew monitor one of the ship's furnaces and light the furnace after it has been shut down. Lighting the fire takes a lot of care, since it involves working with open flames near tanks of diesel fuel, Harris said.

Steam burns can be another hazard, Harris noted. Steam heated to 850 degrees travels from boilers into pipes at a pressure of 600 pounds per square inch, and a ruptured pipe will scald a man to death.