Read Online Dragon Fire (The Battle for the Falklands Book 2) by Peter von Bleichert - Free Book Online Page B

electrical shunt and disconnect switch.   Raton hurried to put his gloved hand on the
switch.   He watched the drop elongate.
    The liquid orb reflected the lights and
machinery of the confined space.   Raton saw
himself there, too, a stretched face with wide eyes and a sweat-covered
brow.   He cursed the water.   Then he thought of the cool summer
thunderstorms that visited his farm in Salta, where the rains would break the
humidity and drench the croplands.   Before
they called him ‘Raton,’ he was Gaston Bersa , a
simple farmer, a man who stood among the rows of citrus trees and let the
downpour wash away the day’s dirt and sweat.
    Raton had fallen in love with the sea at
first.   It had helped him escape the
workaday life, and offered him a perfumed, salty-sweet smell and a vast openness
he had never before experienced.   But soon
he came to consider the whole other world, beneath the undulating plane of the
sea’s surface.
    Submarine school imparted a healthy fear
of, and respect for, that domain.   High-pressure water had sprayed Raton and his classmates, filling the
training compartment fast.   He then
learned that the ocean was the enemy, something to be resisted and fought.   When mechanical aptitude and a slight frame
had gotten him assigned to the battery deck, he quickly learned that, should
saltwater contact the electrolyte within the imperfectly sealed battery cells,
a plume of lethal chlorine gas would flood the compartment, and potentially the
entire submarine.   Raton snapped the
disconnect switch over, and isolated a block of batteries.
    The water seemed to fall all at once, a
brief rain that splattered across the square tops of the battery cells.   I love
my job , Raton thought ironically.   He
began to hum; his usual remedy for doubt or fear.   Then his tight little world was shattered by
another sonar ping.   This one was lower
in frequency and clearly more powerful, for it shook the very skin of San Luis II .
    ◊◊◊◊
    “Active sonar…and propeller noises,” San Luis II ’s sonar technician
announced.   “Twin screws,” he added.   “It is Delta 1, sir.   The destroyer.   She has turned in our direction, and is
closing fast.” ‘Destroyer.’   The word
bore so much weight to submariners.   Throughout
history, such ships were both respected and cursed by those that lurked and sneaked
about beneath the sea.   Captain Matias
looked to Ledesma, who rolled his eyes, a gesture that communicated much.
    “Sir, airborne contact,” the sonar
technician said.   With
the thermocline breaking up, San Luis II ’s
sonar could now discern the high rpm turbine and thumping rotors of the
hovering Merlin.   “Designate:
‘Hotel 1.’”
    The Merlin—that vexatious helicopter that
seemed to appear and disappear to aggravate the very captain who had kept them
alive so far—now had a designation, a neat packet to contain the venom they
felt for this contraption.   Matias looked
at the clock.   1930 .   It’s getting dark top-side .   Then the Control Room lights flickered.
    “Report,” he ordered.
    Ledesma looked to the Control Room’s
engineering panel and the battery read-outs, and then his gaze shifted to the
electrician’s mate whose job it was to monitor the boat’s systems.   Grasping for an answer, the electrician’s
mate threw switches, pushed buttons, and read gauges.
    “Sir, voltage drop,” he reported.   “I show a manual tripping of ‘primary
disconnect one.’   Available power now
down to 22 percent.”
    Ledesma went to the growler, lifted the
receiver, and selected the battery deck.   After he made inquiries, Ledesma hung up and turned to the captain.
    “Battery deck reports bank two isolated
due to water.   Corporal Bersa is trying to get another eight percent with cable
bridging.”
    “Goddamn it.”   Matias knew that, with battery reserves so
low, he would soon need to run the diesels, and the diesels needed air.
    “Captain, we must