the battle seeming half won. Now he just needed to get Ramirez inside.
The tube was, he remembered randomly from his qualifications, twenty-one inches in diameter. Seemed like a lot, and Ramirez wasnât a big guy, but as Frank lifted him up and tried to shove him inside, he saw that it would be difficult. He decided put him in headfirst, because it seemed like the right thing to do. He grabbed him from behind, around his waist, and tried to flop him inside. Frank winced as he heard Ramirezâs teeth crack on the edge of the tube. One of them broke off and fell to the deck. He continued pushing, got Ramirez in up to his hips, where he became stuck. Of course , thought Frank, he probably has a thirty-two-inch waist, and this is a twenty-one-inch tube. But waitâthat would be the diameter, whereas the thirty-two-inch waist was a circumference. ⦠He was certain there was a formula he could use to convert one to the other, but even if he remembered it, he wouldnât be able to do the math in his head. Rather, he just kept shoving, with all his considerable strength, until he could move Ramirez no more. His lower legs stuck out of the tube, the thick soles of his heavily worked engineerâs boots dangling in the air.
So close, thought Frank. He saw the tooth heâd knocked out of Ramirezâs head, kicked it across the deck and into the bilge in frustration. Heâd be all the way in the tube if he were just five pounds skinnier. Or one inch.
And then he realized what he needed to do: he would have to undress him.
He sat down on the floor and braced his feet against each side of the tube, grabbed one of Ramirezâs feet with each hand, and pulled. It took all his strength to reverse the work heâd already done, but at last he got him out of the tube.
He untied the boots and pulled his pants off. Then he unbuttoned his shirt, threw it on a pile with the pants and the boots. Ramirez was down to his undershirt and his Jockeys, and Frank prayed that he had reduced the manâs diameter enough; he couldnât bear the thought of stripping him naked. It already felt increasingly like he was doing something wrong, something close to desecrating the dead, with possible legal and moral consequences. For all of Ramirezâs sins, Frank didnât want to shove his naked body into a torpedo tube.
He lifted Ramirez again, and shoved him inside headfirst. Undressing him had worked, and this time, he went in all the way, until the toes of his feet touched the inside of the tube. It was tight, which made Frank worry, but he remembered how completely those green torpedoes filled the tubes, each weighing many times what Ramirez weighed, and the system hurled them effortlessly into the sea. He closed the breech door, deeply grateful to be no longer looking at the feet of his dead engineer.
Now he found himself in the procedure again, determined for things to proceed smoothly from that point on. Flood the tube . He pushed the button and heard the valve open, heard the movement of water from the tank into the tube. He tried not to picture Ramirezâs dead body in there, now surrounded by seawater inside the brass tube. Pressurize the tube. He opened the pressure valve, allowing the pressure of the tube to equalize with the sea, so the muzzle door could open. He opened the muzzle door, and the light on the console turned from an amber line to a green O, indicating success.
Now nothing remained but to shoot him out. The tube was a loaded gun, and Ramirez was the bullet. Frank paused for a moment. The Navy had a ceremony for burials at sea, he knewârituals that had been handed down for hundreds of years, rituals older than the republic. Theyâd done one when he first got to the boat, fulfilling the request of an old retired submariner, and he still remembered the somber announcement Captain McCallister had made on the 1MC, âAll hands bury the dead.â But they didnât have a
The tube was, he remembered randomly from his qualifications, twenty-one inches in diameter. Seemed like a lot, and Ramirez wasnât a big guy, but as Frank lifted him up and tried to shove him inside, he saw that it would be difficult. He decided put him in headfirst, because it seemed like the right thing to do. He grabbed him from behind, around his waist, and tried to flop him inside. Frank winced as he heard Ramirezâs teeth crack on the edge of the tube. One of them broke off and fell to the deck. He continued pushing, got Ramirez in up to his hips, where he became stuck. Of course , thought Frank, he probably has a thirty-two-inch waist, and this is a twenty-one-inch tube. But waitâthat would be the diameter, whereas the thirty-two-inch waist was a circumference. ⦠He was certain there was a formula he could use to convert one to the other, but even if he remembered it, he wouldnât be able to do the math in his head. Rather, he just kept shoving, with all his considerable strength, until he could move Ramirez no more. His lower legs stuck out of the tube, the thick soles of his heavily worked engineerâs boots dangling in the air.
So close, thought Frank. He saw the tooth heâd knocked out of Ramirezâs head, kicked it across the deck and into the bilge in frustration. Heâd be all the way in the tube if he were just five pounds skinnier. Or one inch.
And then he realized what he needed to do: he would have to undress him.
He sat down on the floor and braced his feet against each side of the tube, grabbed one of Ramirezâs feet with each hand, and pulled. It took all his strength to reverse the work heâd already done, but at last he got him out of the tube.
He untied the boots and pulled his pants off. Then he unbuttoned his shirt, threw it on a pile with the pants and the boots. Ramirez was down to his undershirt and his Jockeys, and Frank prayed that he had reduced the manâs diameter enough; he couldnât bear the thought of stripping him naked. It already felt increasingly like he was doing something wrong, something close to desecrating the dead, with possible legal and moral consequences. For all of Ramirezâs sins, Frank didnât want to shove his naked body into a torpedo tube.
He lifted Ramirez again, and shoved him inside headfirst. Undressing him had worked, and this time, he went in all the way, until the toes of his feet touched the inside of the tube. It was tight, which made Frank worry, but he remembered how completely those green torpedoes filled the tubes, each weighing many times what Ramirez weighed, and the system hurled them effortlessly into the sea. He closed the breech door, deeply grateful to be no longer looking at the feet of his dead engineer.
Now he found himself in the procedure again, determined for things to proceed smoothly from that point on. Flood the tube . He pushed the button and heard the valve open, heard the movement of water from the tank into the tube. He tried not to picture Ramirezâs dead body in there, now surrounded by seawater inside the brass tube. Pressurize the tube. He opened the pressure valve, allowing the pressure of the tube to equalize with the sea, so the muzzle door could open. He opened the muzzle door, and the light on the console turned from an amber line to a green O, indicating success.
Now nothing remained but to shoot him out. The tube was a loaded gun, and Ramirez was the bullet. Frank paused for a moment. The Navy had a ceremony for burials at sea, he knewârituals that had been handed down for hundreds of years, rituals older than the republic. Theyâd done one when he first got to the boat, fulfilling the request of an old retired submariner, and he still remembered the somber announcement Captain McCallister had made on the 1MC, âAll hands bury the dead.â But they didnât have a
Similar Books
