George Bancroft was one of the great figures of nineteenth-century America, a historian, diplomat, and the founder of the United States Naval Academy. More than a century later, the Navy honored him by giving his name to a vessel that represented the cutting edge of Cold War deterrence. USS George Bancroft (SSBN-643) was a Benjamin Franklin-class ballistic missile submarine, part of the legendary “41 for Freedom.” From 1966 until 1993 she carried out seventy deterrent patrols, armed first with Polaris, then Poseidon, and finally Trident missiles. Her mission was never to fire, but to wait in silence, ensuring that no adversary would dare launch a nuclear strike. In this episode we tell the story of the man who gave the Navy its Academy and the submarine that bore his name, together leaving a legacy of leadership, vigilance, and commitment to the defense of freedom.

In the autumn of 1944, the submarine USS Aspro slipped out of Fremantle and into the vast expanse of the South China Sea. This was her fifth war patrol, a mission that would test the nerves of her crew and the steel of the boat against Japan’s desperate efforts to keep its sea lanes open.

For weeks the men endured the grind of patrol life, stalking convoys, dodging aircraft, and bracing against the thundering shocks of depth charges. The climax came on October 2, 1944, when Aspro closed in on a Japanese tanker hugging the coastline. With torpedoes running true and enemy aircraft swooping low, the crew fought their way through one of the most dangerous encounters of their patrol.

Tonight we tell the story of Aspro’s fifth war patrol, the men who carried it out, and the day when courage and precision made all the difference.

On June 26, 1943, the submarine USS Jack prowled the waters off Japan on her first war patrol. She was young, aggressive, and her crew carried a dangerous confidence. That morning, Jack struck hard, firing a spread of torpedoes into a convoy and sending two ships to the bottom. The crew was elated, convinced they had the war figured out.

But in the shadow of victory came disaster. A Japanese bomber swooped down and dropped a depth charge so close it blew Jack’s stern clear out of the water, wrecked her diving planes, and sent her plunging out of control. In that moment of chaos, with the submarine seconds from destruction, Torpedoman’s Mate Chief Sylvest Kohut fought to free the jammed controls and helped save the boat.

It was a narrow escape, a hard-earned lesson that in war it is always the unexpected that can kill you.

In September of 1921, San Pedro Harbor was the bustling new home of the Pacific Fleet. Battleships filled the anchorage, destroyers patrolled the coast, and tied to the tender USS Camden was the small submarine USS R-6. She was a product of the pigboat era, a generation of submarines built during World War I that were experimental, cramped, and dangerous. On the night of September 26, her crew worked late into the evening preparing exercise torpedoes for the next day’s practice. What began as routine training turned into disaster when seawater suddenly surged into the forward torpedo room. Within minutes, R-6 was gone, resting upright on the harbor floor in just thirty five feet of water. Two men were lost, their names carried forward in submarine memory. This is the story of tragedy, recovery, and resilience in the early years of the United States Submarine Force.

In September of 1942 the submarine USS Sargo left Fremantle on her fifth war patrol, a mission that would take her deep into enemy waters of the South China Sea. For nearly a month she stalked empty horizons, her crew wrestling with leaking exhaust valves and the constant threat of discovery. Then came September 25, when Sargo fired at a Japanese freighter and nearly paid with her own life when one torpedo turned in a deadly circle. The target was finished with gunfire, but the victory was followed by twenty two hours of depth charge attacks that tested every man aboard.

Back in Ava, Missouri, Fireman Second Class E. E. Hutchinson’s mother worried whether her son was even receiving the hometown newspapers she faithfully sent. In time she learned he was, and that he was glad to get them. This is the story of USS Sargo’s fifth patrol.

The USS John Marshall was never meant to be famous. She did not fight great battles or fire weapons in anger. Yet her legacy is important. She shows how the Navy adapted in the Cold War, repurposing old ships for new missions, keeping pressure on adversaries, and supporting allies in ways that never made the papers.

She carried the name of a man who defined the rule of law, and she embodied the paradox of nuclear weapons: built for destruction, but used to keep the peace.

The Cold War was fought in silence as much as in speeches. Deep beneath the Atlantic, submarines carried weapons that no one ever wanted to fire, and crews who lived in a world without sunlight to make sure those weapons remained ready. The USS Henry L. Stimson, SSBN 655, was one of those boats. She was part of the 41 for Freedom, the fleet of American missile submarines that kept the balance of power by disappearing. Her life tells us about the sailors who endured months underwater, the technology that changed with Polaris, Poseidon, and Trident missiles, and the legacy of Henry L. Stimson, the statesman who oversaw the birth of the atomic bomb.

Today we explore the story of the Stimson, from her keel at Electric Boat to her final days at Bremerton, and the quiet victory she represents in the long shadow of the Cold War.

On September 20, 1941, the Navy confirmed what many had feared since that summer. The wreck of the USS O-9 had been found, lying deep off the coast of Portsmouth, New Hampshire. Three months earlier, on June 20, the old submarine had slipped beneath the waves during a routine test dive and never returned. Thirty-three men went with her, lost in an instant when the Atlantic crushed her beyond her limits.

For weeks, the Navy searched, divers risking their lives, families waiting for word, and oil slicks rising from the sea as the only sign of her fate. By September 20, the exact resting place was fixed, marked forever as the grave of the O-9 and her crew. This story is not about victory in battle, but about sacrifice in training, and the cost of pushing an aging submarine too far. O-9 remains on eternal patrol.