Free Deep Sound Channel by Joe Buff Page B
Authors: Joe Buff
couldn't be in such bad shape. The Enj wouldn't run the fans on batteries, he wouldn't waste the power. So the reactor and heat exchangers had to be okay, along with at least one shipservice turbogenerator. The speed log on Jeffrey's digital display told him both steam sides survived and Challenger's propulsor jet still worked.
Then Sessions shouted, "Flooding sounds! We're taking water somewhere!"
"Localize it," Jeffrey ordered.
"I'm getting flooding forward!"
"Phone Talker," Jeffrey said, "have all compartments near the bow check in."
"Sir," the phone talker said a moment later, "torpedo room does not respond."
"No feeds from the torpedo room," Jeffrey stated, studying his screens.
"We're taking water forward," COB confirmed.
A messenger arrived. "Sir," he said to Jeffrey, "Weps reports torpedo room is taking water. We looked through the hatch port. It's impossible in there." COB stopped juggling the variable ballast and safety tanks, reaching instead for the fore and aft emergency blow handles. He flipped up the protective plastic covers and looked meaningfully at the captain.
Wilson nodded. "Chief of the Watch, emergency blow on high-pressure air, do not use the backup chemical gas generators." There was a great roaring sound. "Start to vent again at four hundred feet. I don't want us surfacing a leaky boat right under a pair of mushroom clouds."
"Vent at four hundred, aye," COB said.
"How bad's the flooding?" Jeffrey said. The enlisted talker relayed the question on his big chest-carried mouthpiece, then listened on his headphones as the damage control party reported back.
"Bad, sir. Water's gaining on the bilge pumps fast, rising over a foot a minute. The spray's still taking paint right off the bulkheads."
"XO," Wilson said, listening on the damage control handset, "that's our biggest problem now. You head down there and take charge, get Weps in here as Fire Control." Wilson picked up the 7MC with his left hand. "Maneuvering, maintain back flank. We need speed for depth control and the pump-jet's got lousy pickup in reverse." Wilson turned to Meltzer. "Helm, how are the waterfoils?"
"Sir, foreplanes will not deploy. All after control surfaces are nominal, but functioning is awkward going backwards."
"Make your depth one hundred feet and try to hold her steady there. That'll reduce the outside pressure and give us some protection from the fallout." As the boat came up, she began to roll and pitch. "Captain," Meltzer said, "we're too unstable!"
Wilson held the mike open as he continued, "Right standard rudder."
"Right standard rudder, aye, sir. No course specified."
"As our bow swings left to two seven zero," Wilson said, "steady her there and stop the shaft. Then go ahead to one third smartly. I want us clearing datum upwind, just in case. The lower speed'll relieve some of the force of the water on the bow. Use down-angle on the sternplane function if we get too heavy forward."
"Understood, sir," Meltzer said.
"X0, tell me if you can't stop the flooding. Besides the radiation problem, I'd hate to surface and make a datum for some overflying satellite."
"I concur, sir," Jeffrey said. He started for the ladder aft of the CACC, the one leading down to the weapons spaces.
On the way he grabbed a portable radiac—radiation, detection, indication, and computation. This one measured alpha particles, the heaviest and slowest-movingthus least penetrating—fallout emission by-product. But alpha sources were the most carcinogenic if inhaled, lodged in the alveoli of the lungs. At another locker Jeffrey donned a self-contained Scott air pack. He sealed the mask very tightly, drawing in the metallic-tasting oxygen from the heavy tank. He put on thick work gloves. When he reached the torpedo room lower level, the damage control parties were inside. Jeffrey quickly sized up the situation.
Challenger's eight torpedo tubes, her war-fighting business end, were grouped vertically in sets of four, starboard and
Then Sessions shouted, "Flooding sounds! We're taking water somewhere!"
"Localize it," Jeffrey ordered.
"I'm getting flooding forward!"
"Phone Talker," Jeffrey said, "have all compartments near the bow check in."
"Sir," the phone talker said a moment later, "torpedo room does not respond."
"No feeds from the torpedo room," Jeffrey stated, studying his screens.
"We're taking water forward," COB confirmed.
A messenger arrived. "Sir," he said to Jeffrey, "Weps reports torpedo room is taking water. We looked through the hatch port. It's impossible in there." COB stopped juggling the variable ballast and safety tanks, reaching instead for the fore and aft emergency blow handles. He flipped up the protective plastic covers and looked meaningfully at the captain.
Wilson nodded. "Chief of the Watch, emergency blow on high-pressure air, do not use the backup chemical gas generators." There was a great roaring sound. "Start to vent again at four hundred feet. I don't want us surfacing a leaky boat right under a pair of mushroom clouds."
"Vent at four hundred, aye," COB said.
"How bad's the flooding?" Jeffrey said. The enlisted talker relayed the question on his big chest-carried mouthpiece, then listened on his headphones as the damage control party reported back.
"Bad, sir. Water's gaining on the bilge pumps fast, rising over a foot a minute. The spray's still taking paint right off the bulkheads."
"XO," Wilson said, listening on the damage control handset, "that's our biggest problem now. You head down there and take charge, get Weps in here as Fire Control." Wilson picked up the 7MC with his left hand. "Maneuvering, maintain back flank. We need speed for depth control and the pump-jet's got lousy pickup in reverse." Wilson turned to Meltzer. "Helm, how are the waterfoils?"
"Sir, foreplanes will not deploy. All after control surfaces are nominal, but functioning is awkward going backwards."
"Make your depth one hundred feet and try to hold her steady there. That'll reduce the outside pressure and give us some protection from the fallout." As the boat came up, she began to roll and pitch. "Captain," Meltzer said, "we're too unstable!"
Wilson held the mike open as he continued, "Right standard rudder."
"Right standard rudder, aye, sir. No course specified."
"As our bow swings left to two seven zero," Wilson said, "steady her there and stop the shaft. Then go ahead to one third smartly. I want us clearing datum upwind, just in case. The lower speed'll relieve some of the force of the water on the bow. Use down-angle on the sternplane function if we get too heavy forward."
"Understood, sir," Meltzer said.
"X0, tell me if you can't stop the flooding. Besides the radiation problem, I'd hate to surface and make a datum for some overflying satellite."
"I concur, sir," Jeffrey said. He started for the ladder aft of the CACC, the one leading down to the weapons spaces.
On the way he grabbed a portable radiac—radiation, detection, indication, and computation. This one measured alpha particles, the heaviest and slowest-movingthus least penetrating—fallout emission by-product. But alpha sources were the most carcinogenic if inhaled, lodged in the alveoli of the lungs. At another locker Jeffrey donned a self-contained Scott air pack. He sealed the mask very tightly, drawing in the metallic-tasting oxygen from the heavy tank. He put on thick work gloves. When he reached the torpedo room lower level, the damage control parties were inside. Jeffrey quickly sized up the situation.
Challenger's eight torpedo tubes, her war-fighting business end, were grouped vertically in sets of four, starboard and
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