The term “zulu five oscar” denotes a security test held against a submarine. It works like this: A sailor attempts to gain unauthorized access to the boat and / or classified documents. The crew is not warned beforehand. I participated in a zulu five oscar test in December 1985, and successfully gained access to three fast attack submarines in one day.

I was an MM2(SS) assigned to the USS Atlanta SSN-712, Squadron 8, Norfolk. I returned from leave to find the boat still underway, so I was temporarily assigned to the squadron barge. One morning, a lieutenant from squadron showed up and asked for one volunteer for a zulu five oscar. He explained that the idea was to try to bluff your way aboard boats. I jumped at the chance. I was thrilled to get away from the boredom of the barge. The other guys thought I was nuts.

On board our squadron tender (USS Emory S. Land), the lieutenant explained the rules to me. For the next few days, I was “on my own”. My only job was to attempt to gain access to any of the 688 and 637 class boats at the base (at the time, quite a few). After each attempt, whether successful or not, I had to write a detailed report. How I would gain access was entirely up to me, as long as I stayed within some basic rules.

Weapons of any kind were not allowed. I could not use force or the threat of force. I had to use “normal access routes” (topside hatches). I could not damage government property. I could not impersonate an officer. If secret or above material came into my possession, I was to immediately turn it over to the duty officer. As long as I stayed within these rules, anything goes!  I signed a form stating that I understood the rules. Finally, I was given a document, signed by the squadron commodore, giving me authorization to conduct “security inspections” aboard submarines.

Then they cut me loose.

I felt like James Bond, Rambo and the Terminator all rolled up into one. Over the next two days, I attempted to bluff my way aboard about a dozen boats. Sometimes it worked, sometimes not. Several guys were sent to mast for allowing me to board without proper authorization. At one point, I had a loaded 45 pointed at me without my knowing it. Given the rules of deadly force, I could have been (should have been?) shot. The topside watch later stated that he almost pulled the trigger. I later heard, although I don’t know if this is true, that due to this incident “zulu five oscar” drills were rarely, possibly never, held again in this form anywhere in the US Navy.

Being a nuke, I had never stood any kind of topside or forward security watch. Nevertheless, I knew basically how it worked. To go aboard, you had to be either crew or on the “access list”. If you were not, you had to have an escort at all times. I wanted to get aboard and find some classified docs. Failing that, I planned to try to take a dump in the CO’s head. I didn’t get that far, but I got close.

Each time I tried to board a boat, I made up a simple, believable hoax or improved one that I had already tried. Of course, most of the topside watches were green 18 or 19 year old kids. This made my task easier. I had done some professional acting as a child – that was a factor too, I believe. Still, I was a bit surprised that some of my ruses worked as well as they did.

I strolled down the brow of one boat and explained to the topside watch that one of the machinist mates on board had asked me to meet him in control so he can escort me aft so I could give them some advice on how to set one of their R114’s. I made up a name. I insisted that I be allowed to wait for my escort in control, not topside, because I was in a great hurry. I did not really expect to be allowed to do this, but when I asked to speak to the duty officer on the phone they did grant that request. I re-stated my request to the duty officer, and of course he said, “No chance, you wait topside for your escort.” But the topside watch could not hear what the duty officer was saying to me. As soon as the duty officer hung up, I said into the dead phone, “Okay, sir, I’ll be right down.” I turned to the topside watch and said, “The duty officer said to meet him in control right now, and he will be with me until Petty Officer Whatsizface shows up.”

The watch gladly let me climb down the forward torpedo loading trunk.

I started walking around the boat as if I belonged there. I couldn’t find any classified material, and I was gathering up the nerve to go use the CO’s head when suddenly a ruckus brook loose and several guys grabbed me. No alarm was sounded, but it was clear that after ten minutes or so the topside watch had figured out which way the wind was blowing. I was (rather roughly) brought into the crew’s mess. I was a bit startled that my fellow submariners continued to handle me roughly even after I had identified myself as a zulu five oscar and showed them my document. No one actually hit me, but they never let me go for an instant and they weren’t very gentle or polite! Soon the CO or XO appeared and I explained what happened. The man was visibly crestfallen. He gruffly ordered me escorted off the boat and several sailors vied for the privilege of brusquely shoving me up the escape trunk and down the brow. The deposited me on the pier like a sack of potatoes. I went back to squadron and wrote a complete report. The lieutenant who was acting as my “supervisor” was surprised that I had gotten so far so quickly, and offered his encouragement. I was soon ready to try again (with a different boat!).

I tried the same ruse but this time the watch was not one hundred percent convinced to let me go down the hatch unescorted. I can see the indecision in his face. But he did not say “no”, so I foolishly went down the hatch. On this 688 class boat, the forward torpedo loading hatch was secured so the only access was the forward escape trunk. I did not realize it, but he had drawn his sidearm and had it trained on me by the time I was near the bottom of the trunk. If he commanded “halt” I did not hear him. He sounded the general alarm before I had gotten through crew’s mess. He announced “unauthorized boarder” or something like that on the 1MC by the time I was passing the TDU room. My goal was to reach the torpedo room. As I walked, I pretended to look for the trespassers with the rest of the crew. This worked for about ten seconds. Same deal – roughly ejected from the boat.

I tried a few other tactics. I approached one topside watch and immediately showed him my “authorization to conduct security inspections” document. I told him that it allowed me to go aboard the boat unescorted provided that he logged me in, entered that it was for a security inspection, and that he had sighted the document and it was signed by the squadron 8 commodore. After carefully reading it, he agreed and down the hatch I went. This time, I found a SECRET pub laying on one of the chart tables in control. I snagged it when no one was looking. I then went to the wardroom, asked for the duty officer, handed him the pub and explained what I did. The topside watch was relieved in seconds, before I even left the boat. When he saw me, he snarled, “I can’t believe you’re a submariner.”

By the second day, word had spread. It would be far more difficult to get onto a boat. I decided to alter my tactics a bit. I went to a topside watch and told him that I was a nuke machinist mate off the Atlanta (true) and I asked to speak to the M-Div LPO, if he was on board. I noticed that the topside watch had been doubled, and one guy growled to that other (so I could hear), “Watch him. There’s a zulu five going around, and he’s a crafty s.o.b.” When the LPO showed up, I explained that I was doing some R114 maintenance and I had dropped a special tool into the engine room lower level bilge and I could not find it. Could I please borrow theirs? I did not know the name of the tool, but if he could escort me aft I could pick it out from the R114 toolkit. I was logged aboard, and down the hatch we went. As he led the way toward shaft alley, I ditched him somewhere in engine room upper level and ran back forward quicker than a jackrabbit. I hid in the crew’s dry stores space just under the forward escape trunk. One minute latter, general alarm. “Unauthorized boarder”. Took them a good five minutes to find me. I know I shouldn’t have, but I helped myself to some Ritz crackers as I waited to be found.

Some sea stories happen right on the pier.