"Oh, hell. He might have been in there? DC Central, has anyone seen Chief Asher?"
"Negative, sir. That team needs a leader, sir, and it needs it now. Those fire temperatures will cause damage to the surrounding bulkheads if they last long enough."
Paul glanced quickly around. Silver's the command duty officer. He can't go to the scene because he has to coordinate the entire effort. Chief Imari is the officer of the deck, and Silver's primary assistant right now. That leaves me. "I'll go." Silver was staring at the bulkhead again. "Scott? I'll go. Okay?"
"What?"
"I'll go lead the Damage Control team. You're in charge here. I need your approval. Is that okay?"
"Uh… yeah. Okay."
Paul spun on one heel and dashed toward Forward Engineering. He took ladders at a reckless pace, hurling himself down the steps, and ducking through hatches. One shoulder slammed against a hatch as he went through and Paul moderated his pace just enough to maintain his balance. The last thing anybody needs is for me to knock myself out now. Memories from his damage control training swarmed chaotically through his mind, merging into a stream of images of smoke, heat, water and torn metal.
The Damage Control team, an even dozen sailors, looked around as Paul pulled himself into the compartment. "Who's the assistant team leader?"
A small brunette held up her hand. "Me, sir. Petty Officer Santiago. You comin' in with us?"
"Yeah. I hope you got a spare survival suit."
"If we don't, you ain't comin', sir. But we got the Chief's. Any idea where he is, sir?"
Paul paused just a moment as he pulled himself into the suit. "He might be in there."
" Dios." Santiago hastened to aid Paul's donning of the suit.
Paul activated the suit systems and watched data pop up on his faceplate display. The suit's air exchanger kicked in, blowing fresh air against his face. Everything seemed to be working properly, so he activated the local communications circuit. "Santiago. How'd you recommend taking this fire down?"
"Uh, sir, if it was me, I'd go in with both hoses on full spray, as fine a fog as we can put out. We can't smother that crap, so we gotta cool it enough that the fresh fuel comin' in stops ignitin'. That's what I'd do."
Paul nodded. The suit hindered the gesture a bit, being bulky enough to protect the wearer for a while against the extremes of space and hazards such as fires, but hopefully flexible enough to allow any necessary movement. "Then that's what we'll do. Get the hoses laid out and ready to go."
"Sir." A hull tech waved one hand. "That fuel's corrosive as hell."
"Right. Our suits should be able to handle it." I remember that from my training. At least, they're supposed to be able to handle it. "Everybody double check the seals on your suits."
"Buddy check!" Santiago snapped, quickly running her hands over the seaman next to her while he did the same to her. "You, too, sir." Paul held still while Santiago's hands pressed across his arms, back and legs. A ridiculous thought, that having Petty Officer Santiago pawing him would normally be a violation of a couple of articles of the Uniform Code of Military Justice, sped through his mind even as he knew that neither her actions nor his reactions were focused on anything but staying alive. "You're good, sir."
"Thanks." Paul forced himself to scroll carefully through communication options until he found the right one. "DC Central?"
"DC Central, aye."
"This is Lieutenant Sinclair. We're going to go into Forward Engineering with two hoses on full spray and attempt to cool the fuel down below its ignition temperature. I'll need all the fresh water you can provide to those hoses."
"Roger. Understand you need water maintained to the hoses. I'll notify the station to keep it coming."
Paul glanced at the hatch to Forward Engineering, which was beginning to glow noticeably. Man, when we pop that we better be careful… oh, jeez. "Santiago. Get the hatch into this space sealed. When we open up Forward Engineering it's going to flood this compartment with junk. DC Central, make sure all accesses and ventilation to this compartment are sealed."
"Roger. All accesses sealed, vents secured."
The low background hum of vent fans, a constant presence on the ship, cut off abruptly. Two sailors turned and made thumbs up gestures from the other hatch. "It's tight, sir."
"Okay, um… who's lead hose?"
Santiago crouched and hefted the hose. "That's me, sir. Uh, I'd recommend you not stand right in front of that hatch when we pop it, Mr. Sinclair."
Paul suddenly realized he was indeed standing right in front of the hatch, like the hero of some action-packed but stupid movie. He hastily moved back and to the side. "Thanks, Santiago. Okay, charge the hoses." The limp lengths of the hoses suddenly bulged into tight cylinders as water under high pressure surged into them. Petty Officer Santiago on one hose and a big male bosun mate on the other held their nozzles firmly as they jerked in response to the tightening hoses like eager horses fighting their bridles. The rest of the sailors formed up to help control and carry the hoses, except for two who stood back to help feed the hoses through the hatch once the others went in. "DC Central, Quarterdeck, this is Lieutenant Sinclair. We're popping the hatch to Forward Engineering."
The two hull technicians in the team punched the automated opener, and after getting no response hauled out tools, placed them in the manual opening slots, then pulled hard. The hatch resisted for a moment, then blew open so fast one of the hull techs barely avoided getting smashed. The hatch slammed back against the bulkhead, its interior surface a pitted, smoking ruin, then the entire Damage Control team staggered as a firestorm of heat and smoke fountained out through the hatch opening. Paul caught himself, leaning into the eruption and watching the tell tales on his face plate blink rapid warnings. If we hadn't been suited up when that hit, we'd have been fried instantly.
Both hoses lit off, hurling out a high velocity mist of fine droplets of water against the heat and smoke. Water mist flashed to steam, stealing heat from the fire, and beat back the smoke. "Fuel shouldn't be making that kinda smoke!" one of the hull techs shouted.
Paul watched the black and gray mass, then shook his head. "It's not the fuel making that. It's everything else in that compartment burning." Insulation, computers, wiring, plastic, and maybe at least one human. "And don't yell on the circuit."
"Aye, aye, sir."
"Advance when you're ready, Santiago."
"Advance when ready, aye, sir." Santiago began duck-walking forward, staying low beneath the hottest air and moving the nozzle in a tight circular pattern that opened a hole in the inferno for her advance. The back-up hose paused while Santiago cleared the hatch, then followed, its spray covering and cooling Santiago as well as beating back the fire and smoke. Paul waited until about half the damage control team had entered, then pushed in himself.
His vision vanished so suddenly Paul almost panicked. Then he spotted the tell tales still glowing on his face plate and realized he hadn't gone blind, but that the smoke was so dense it had cut off sight completely. Paul's arms flailed out in search of contact with some surface, one hand brushing against something which he grabbed onto like a liferaft.
"Who the hell — ? Oh, Mr. Sinclair. Just a sec." A hand grasped his wrist just above where Paul's own hand was locked onto someone's shoulder, then guided Paul's hand to a taunt, rounded surface he recognized as one of the hoses. "You okay, now, sir?"
"Yeah. Thanks." Control your breathing. Don't hyperventilate. Don't let the team hear you sounding scared. Paul became aware the hose wasn't moving. Peering ahead, he thought he could vaguely make out swirls in the smoke that must mark the fog nozzles at work, spraying a so-far futile barrage against the firestorm. Okay. Think. Remember your damage control training. When fighting a fire, aim at the base of the flames, not the flames themselves. If we can get to where the fuel's coming in, we can cool it there and stop the fire at its source. "DC Central, this is Lieutenant Sinclair. We've got zero visibility in here. And I mean zero. We need guidance to the likely source of the fuel leak."