Out of the corner of his eye, Hallorann saw a yellow piece of notebook paper blow up from the bilge into which the blowers were pointed. It sailed through the space, and then landed against the curved wall of the hull, where dampness began to soak through it. He tried to reach for it, but it was just a little too far. He saw densely written, neat notes in numbered rows; it just looked like something that should be preserved.
Without giving it too much thought, he unplugged and leaned down to snatch it off the wall. He gave it a quick look; about half of it was still legible.
“Hey nub!” shouted Lieutenant Kincaid. “Get back on that fan!”
Hallorann shoved the page in his pocket and returned to his station. He returned to the fan, plugged in his EAB, and took a deep breath of the oily smelling air.
After an hour of running the red blowers in conjunction with the big low pressure blower, Yaksic took two readings and confirmed that Freon had, at last, drifted into spec. The officers deliberated in the control room, and decided, in light of their very limited ability to test for phosgene, to wait another hour before breaking one of the last two ampoules. When they did, Kincaid reported excitedly to control that the results were negative. The captain ordered them to confirm the reading with the last ampoule. And with that, after three and a half hours at periscope depth, Jabo picked up the 1MC mike.
“Secure from general emergency,” he said. “All hands remove EABs.”
There was a collective gasp of relief from the crew as they did. The XO rubbed his bare head, which showed red stripes from the rubber straps of the EAB. He turned to the navigator.
“Figure it out, nav. How fast and in which direction.” He turned to Jabo. “Officer of the deck — get down and get fast.”
“Dive make your depth six hundred feet. Ahead flank.”
The helm and the engineroom acknowledged both orders and the ship tipped forward as it drove down. Jabo, like the XO and every other qualified officer on the boat, began to do rough calculations in his head about how far behind they’d fallen and how fast they would have to go to make it up.
Jabo also thought about the all the noise they’d made: the roaring of fans, the clanking of hatches. He pictured sound waves in the sea, travelling for miles, and wondered if anyone was listening. He thought about Sierra Nine.
After dinner the navigator unveiled again the great circle chart of the Pacific and showed them their new track. The navigation brief took place with their dinner dishes still on the table, roast beef and gravy: time seemed suddenly compressed, there was a palpable sense of urgency to everything. Jabo noticed that the XO’s eyes rarely left the repeater in the corner of the wardroom that displayed their speed. As he finished his last spoonful of potatoes, Jabo felt heavy exhaustion set it. He glanced at his watch: it was four o’clock in the morning. He’d had a cup of coffee before dinner and poured himself the dregs from the pot before the nav began his brief, but caffeine could no longer counteract his lack of sleep.
“Bottom line,” said the XO as the navigator concluded his remarks. “Ahead Flank, as fast as we can go, with no more than two trips to PD every day. We’ll snatch the broadcast and away we go. I’ll be up there with a stopwatch timing you fuckers at PD. Clear?”
The JOs nodded and muttered affirmatively.
“Duggan, let’s practice the three-minute rule. How far do we travel in three minutes if we’re going ten knots?”
Duggan thought it over just a second. “1,000 yards.”
“Exactly right. So how fast do we travel a mile if we’re going twenty knots?”
Duggan puzzled over this one a moment longer. “Three minutes.”
“That’s right. You all get that? We’re going to eat up one nautical mile of ocean, two thousand yards, in three minutes, if we’re travelling twenty knots. One more question, Duggan. How fast are we travelling right now?”
Duggan looked panicked, strained to remember what the current ship’s speed was as they moved at ahead flank.
“I’ll give you a hint,” said the XO. “The answer is right above your fucking head in big red numbers.” He pointed to the repeater, as Duggan twisted awkwardly in his seat to get a look while the wardroom laughed in a release of nervous tension.
“Duggan, is that faster or slower than twenty knots?”
“Faster, sir.”
“That’s right. So, we’re going to travel a mile in less than three minutes. Let me show you how fast.”
The XO put his beefy left arm on the wardroom table with bang. “You guys ready?” He pushed a button on the side of his black digital watch making it beep. He watched the display, and after a short time, he banged the table again. “There. We just travelled a mile. Went pretty quick, didn’t it?”
Again the assembled officers mumbled in agreement.
“This is not what any of us are used to — and we need to be vigilant. Look ahead at every chart. Look at the next chart. Be aware, at all times, how fast we are moving and how far we are travelling.”
“This is going to tax every system on the boat,” said the Captain. “As well as the crew. We’ll be running fast and deep, and everyone will need to be on their toes. Barring any further disasters…we will still make it to Taiwan in time. The navigator assures me.”
They all turned to the nav who nodded humorously in response. Jabo thought he looked awful, like he’d lost weight from his already thin frame. He noticed that the nav’s dinner plate, still on the table, was untouched, he hadn’t eaten a bite. Jabo didn’t envy the nav his job now. But then again…everyone on the crew was going to be tested by the high speed run to Taiwan.
“Ok,” said the XO. “You all know what to do now. Get the fuck out of here and get to work.”
Jabo stood with the others but the XO grabbed his elbow as he did. Hein and Kincaid looked at him curiously as they passed, wondering, as Jabo did, what the CO and XO wanted to talk to him about. The Nav, rolling up his charts, was the last to leave, and he did so without a word. When the door shut, there was a moment of silence as the XO and captain looked at each other.
“Sit down, Danny.”
He did.
“You were investigating the dryer fire, right?” asked the XO.
“Yes sir,” said Jabo. “We were going to have an admin hearing after we pulled in.”
“Which means you haven’t done anything yet, right?” said the XO.
Jabo bristled. “Of course, sir, I have. I can deliver the draft report to you if you’d like to review it.”
“Stop being a pussy, Danny, I’m just fucking with you.”
The captain spoke. “Danny, since you were already working on the dryer fire, and since, frankly, I really need someone like you to work in this, you’ll need to do the report on Howard’s death, too. Obviously these two things are related, so we might as well keep you on the case.”
“Yes sir.”
“I know what you’re thinking,” said the XO. “That you don’t have time to do this.”
“Not at all, sir.”
“Good. Because obviously, if what just happened to us was an act of sabotage, this is going to bring a lot of attention to this incident, and to your report. I repeat: a lot.”
“Understood, sir.”
“And we’ll want a preliminary report to hand in the minute we tie up in Taiwan.”
“Yes sir.”
The captain sighed; Jabo could hear in the sound that the official part of their conversation was over. “I still can’t believe he did this. He went from making a small fire in the dryer to attempted murder.”
“And he did kill himself,” said the XO. “Speaking of that, what are we going to do with the body?”