Solveig Krey, Norway's sentry under the sea

Scandinavian Review, Winter 1997/1998 by Miki Dedijer

The first woman ever to command a submarine, Solveig Krey patrols the fjords of Norway in the Kobben S318, a cucumber-shaped war machine that packs 21 wire-guided torpedoes in its bow tubes and an all-male crew, which this writer joined to provide a first-hand report.

Commander Krey passes time in the officer's messroom, one arm on the imitation wood table and a leg on the burgundy bunk mattress, waiting for the Kobben to reach Lodingen where she'll take her submarine beneath the surface of the Norwegian Ocean. The volume knob on the TV is turned far to the right so she can hear the news anchorman above the rush of water against the steel hull and the din of the diesel thrumming in the aft engine room. The air in here is stuffy and warm, stirred only by the faint fresh breeze from the tower above.

A strike at a large brewery tops the news hour this evening in early June. "Hey Atle, did you stock up on beer?" Krey yells through a hatch to the technician's mess and Atle Bruun, known on board as Mr. Brown, the volunteer barmaster, sticks his head out from behind an orange curtain and says, "Yes, Chief."

Since September 1995, when Krey became the world's first female submarine commander, her colleagues and crew haven't mentioned her Christian or family name. All subordinates must address her as chief-as the regulations dictate- whether they're relaxing over a game of backgammon or obeying orders.

Commander Krey stepped into a different world that September, a world that's a bit more private and, to the uninitiated, a bit more lonely too. "I'm on my own," said Krey. "I can no longer ask my instructor to keep an eye on me to see if I'm doing the right or wrong thing. There's no one to discuss my decisions with. I have to make a decision and be ready to stand for it."

She doesn't discuss her job with friends because she feels they won't understand. She can't talk freely with her crew; as their commander she's got to keep a certain distance. And she doesn't care what her aunts, her grandmother or any other relative thinks of her new job. She hasn't even asked.

Solveig Krey is a large mild-mannered woman with a page-boy haircut and neatly trimmed nails. To strangers who come to write about her she's suspicious and guarded but always polite. Her gray eyes look away when faced with a question aimed to reveal a personal trait, a preference or eccentricity. They come alive whenever she cracks a joke.

It's Solveig Krey's way of laughing. In two days her ship and its crew of 21 recruits and professional officers will lie on the rocky bottom of some dismal fjord with seventy meters of briny water separating them from the light of the midnight sun above.

Accidents do happen-twice the chief engineer has experienced the sudden shock of scraping the sea floor. Since Krey first descended in a submarine seven years ago, more or less serious accidents have struck at least 26 of the world's submarines in times of peace, sinking two vessels and leaving a total of 53 dead. Most of those men served on board the Soviet nuclear submarine "Komsomolets." In 1989 an electrical short sparked a fire that sank the vessel off Norway's Bear Island.

This time, however, it's not an accident but an exercise meant to bond the crew and see how they act under pressure: A Swedish URV (underwater rescue vehicle) is scheduled to latch on to the hatch of Kobben S318 and rescue most men on board. Krey and a few men will stay behind to keep the vessel operational. The last time Commander Krey went through a similar exercise she turned to a fellow officer and said, "Women and children first." "But you're the Commanding Officer," came the reply. "All right," said Krey, "let the children go first." Retelling the story, her eyes come alive.

"Lodingen is coming up, Chief," says next-in-command Dag Braadlie coming down the long steel ladder from the bridge, drops of rain glistening on his southwester.

"Is it still light out?" Krey asks from a chair in the adjacent control room. ""So so, it just stopped raining. The sky cleared a bit."

"Good. Just see if there's a lot of fishing activity and let me know what you find."

Krey knows this area well. She patrols the coastline most days of the year. And she was born 35 years ago due west on the island of Langoya, a narrow strip of rocky crags long since ground smooth by the motion of colossal glaciers.

A Taste for Adventure

Krey grew up the stubborn, restless daughter of a nurse and an electrician. She thought of studying chemistry, then biology, and finally filled out a form to join the Navy. "And I'm still here." She worked a while with electronics but in 1989 she started serving on board submarines, first as operational officer, later as navigation officer. Then, from February to September 1995, she passed a 26 week course to qualify as a submarine commander. She had to show she could operate the ship, know its limitations, handle a split-picture periscope, keep an eye out for nearby vessels, care for the crew, know how much rest they need and what they are capable of doing. By the end of the course, her course officers were asking her to serve on board their submarines, and she was getting a lot of media attention. She says: