Two separate clouds of metal fragments, falling through three thousand feet. The U-boats were dead. Their last torpedoes were running off to the south somewhere, no longer a threat.
Several men cheered, but Ilse just sat there numb. What about the fire back aft? What of other damage to the ship? And what about the men on Texas? Challenger might still die too.
Bell ordered flank speed. The ship sped up. Jagged vibrations began, all wrong, and they had to slow down right away.
The phone talker said something was wrong with the propulsion shaft or the pump jet. He relayed more status reports to Bell: The engine room fire had spread to oil that leaked in the bilge. . . . The number of wounded was mounting. . . . They'd destroyed the U-boats, yes, but at what price? Wasn't the rescue mission enough for Jeffrey Fuller? What could he have possibly been thinking?
FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER.
In the engineering spaces, Jeffrey surveyed the dripping turbogenerator. The charred casing was off now, the wiring melted and fused. The bulkhead behind it, and the overhead, were blackened and blistered from flame. The lubricant injector section smoldered. The deck nearby was covered with slippery fire-fighting foam, and waterlogged piles of torn heat insulation lay everywhere.
Lieutenant Willey, in his plug-in breather mask, stood next to Jeffrey on the narrow catwalk, leaning on a cane; Willey's left leg was still in a cast from the recent mission to Durban. Emergency lights cut harshly through the gradually clearing smoke. Jeffrey's air pack was heavy against his shoulders and hips—he'd need a new tank soon. He was very hot and sweaty under the firefighter's coat he'd borrowed from an injured man. Just then Lieutenant Bell appeared; he'd gone from breather outlet to outlet, drawing air as he worked aft. "Lieutenant Sessions has the deck and conn." With his foot Bell nudged a foam concentrate can into line with a dozen others, making the pile of empties a little neater.
"Total loss for this piece of equipment," Willey said, looking at the auxiliary generator, one of two that gave power for everything but main propulsion.
"No way to just rewire it?" Jeffrey said. He liked the tall, straight-talking Willey—
Jeffrey had been an engineer on his own department head tour, right before the Naval War College, right after the Pentagon.
Willey shook his head. "Too much damage, sir. . . . We also lost the main desalinators, Captain. We'll have to go to the backup system." The old-fashioned way: boiling.
"Water rationing, then," Bell said. "The crew won't like it."
"No," Willey said. "They never do. It'll be much worse, with an extra hundred people aboard from Texas."
"How badly will this wrecked turbogenerator affect our operations?" Jeffrey asked.
"Not by that much," Willey said. "The port-side unit is fine, and we can help meet a heavy domestic load from the main propulsion turbogenerators." Challenger had allelectric drive. "That should be okay, since we won't be doing flank speed anytime soon."
"How bad is it?" Bell said.
"The propulsion shaft is okay," Willey said. "I think the pump jet rotors are okay, too. That leaves the fixed blades at the back end of the cowling. They're probably bent, from that nuclear near miss."
"It seems all right now," Jeffrey said.
"The vibrations start at thirty-two, thirty-three knots."
"What if we need to make flank speed again?" Bell said. "To outrun another torpedo, once we find the Texas or, God help us, before then?"
"Keep your fingers crossed," Willey said. "The propulsion power's there. The question is, what will the pump-jet do? It might just vibrate a lot, but that would cost some speed. It might break apart if we push it too hard. . . ."
Jeffrey looked down past the edge of the catwalk. He could see crewmen with tools and mops and machinery wipes, beginning to clean up the lower engine room level. Jeffrey turned to Willey. "We'll make do. Good job fighting the fire. How long to get the air
Several men cheered, but Ilse just sat there numb. What about the fire back aft? What of other damage to the ship? And what about the men on Texas? Challenger might still die too.
Bell ordered flank speed. The ship sped up. Jagged vibrations began, all wrong, and they had to slow down right away.
The phone talker said something was wrong with the propulsion shaft or the pump jet. He relayed more status reports to Bell: The engine room fire had spread to oil that leaked in the bilge. . . . The number of wounded was mounting. . . . They'd destroyed the U-boats, yes, but at what price? Wasn't the rescue mission enough for Jeffrey Fuller? What could he have possibly been thinking?
FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER.
In the engineering spaces, Jeffrey surveyed the dripping turbogenerator. The charred casing was off now, the wiring melted and fused. The bulkhead behind it, and the overhead, were blackened and blistered from flame. The lubricant injector section smoldered. The deck nearby was covered with slippery fire-fighting foam, and waterlogged piles of torn heat insulation lay everywhere.
Lieutenant Willey, in his plug-in breather mask, stood next to Jeffrey on the narrow catwalk, leaning on a cane; Willey's left leg was still in a cast from the recent mission to Durban. Emergency lights cut harshly through the gradually clearing smoke. Jeffrey's air pack was heavy against his shoulders and hips—he'd need a new tank soon. He was very hot and sweaty under the firefighter's coat he'd borrowed from an injured man. Just then Lieutenant Bell appeared; he'd gone from breather outlet to outlet, drawing air as he worked aft. "Lieutenant Sessions has the deck and conn." With his foot Bell nudged a foam concentrate can into line with a dozen others, making the pile of empties a little neater.
"Total loss for this piece of equipment," Willey said, looking at the auxiliary generator, one of two that gave power for everything but main propulsion.
"No way to just rewire it?" Jeffrey said. He liked the tall, straight-talking Willey—
Jeffrey had been an engineer on his own department head tour, right before the Naval War College, right after the Pentagon.
Willey shook his head. "Too much damage, sir. . . . We also lost the main desalinators, Captain. We'll have to go to the backup system." The old-fashioned way: boiling.
"Water rationing, then," Bell said. "The crew won't like it."
"No," Willey said. "They never do. It'll be much worse, with an extra hundred people aboard from Texas."
"How badly will this wrecked turbogenerator affect our operations?" Jeffrey asked.
"Not by that much," Willey said. "The port-side unit is fine, and we can help meet a heavy domestic load from the main propulsion turbogenerators." Challenger had allelectric drive. "That should be okay, since we won't be doing flank speed anytime soon."
"How bad is it?" Bell said.
"The propulsion shaft is okay," Willey said. "I think the pump jet rotors are okay, too. That leaves the fixed blades at the back end of the cowling. They're probably bent, from that nuclear near miss."
"It seems all right now," Jeffrey said.
"The vibrations start at thirty-two, thirty-three knots."
"What if we need to make flank speed again?" Bell said. "To outrun another torpedo, once we find the Texas or, God help us, before then?"
"Keep your fingers crossed," Willey said. "The propulsion power's there. The question is, what will the pump-jet do? It might just vibrate a lot, but that would cost some speed. It might break apart if we push it too hard. . . ."
Jeffrey looked down past the edge of the catwalk. He could see crewmen with tools and mops and machinery wipes, beginning to clean up the lower engine room level. Jeffrey turned to Willey. "We'll make do. Good job fighting the fire. How long to get the air
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