Shipley appeared in the opening.
“They are disconnecting the air sampler, sir. We have enough data to answer Admiral Frost’s questions.”
Shipley nodded, unsure if Logan saw it. “Lieutenant Weaver!” Shipley shouted down.
“Aye, sir.”
“What is our battery status?”
“Sir, I am waiting for Lieutenant Bleecker to respond.”
“Give him another call and increase our speed to ten knots. Where are the contacts?”
“Sir, the two surface warships bear one one zero and one five zero. The submarine we hold at one one zero.”
“Any signs of detection?”
“No, sir. They’re probably just outside the range of the fog-bank.”
“If we have them, then they probably have us. I want to stay on the surface until we lose their cavitations. Assume they know we’re here, but think we’re some lost surface ship.”
Weaver acknowledged as Shipley stood, raised his binoculars, and swept the seaward side off their starboard beam. He had this tight, sinking feeling in his stomach. He thought he had lost this friend of combat after World War II, but here it was back—tight as ever—reminding him of the danger they were in.
“Sir!” Weaver shouted. “The air sampler is off. Forward battery compartment is reporting six eight percent capacity. Aft battery compartment is at full capacity and ready.”
“What’s wrong with forward battery?” Shipley asked. “Bleecker is on his way forward to check it out.”
“That was Lieutenant Bleecker on the sound-powered,” Fromley said. “He says they are showing less than seventy percent battery capacity in here.”
Potts did not answer.
Fromley walked over to the feet sticking out from between the end of the aft side battery and the bulkhead. He tapped the end of the shoes with one of his. “Potts, you awake?” The foul-weather jacket was pulled over Potts’s head.
The shoes rolled over, pointing up, and the jacket came down. “What’s the problem, From? Can’t a sailor take a nap without his shipmates waking him?”
“I just had Lieutenant Bleecker on the sound-powered. I think he is on his way here.”
Potts pushed himself to a sitting position, then grabbed a steel beam running along the bulkhead to pull him out of the cramped area and onto his feet. “How long ago?”
“Just now. He says our compartment is showing less than seventy percent charge while the aft compartment is registering one hundred percent. He wants to know what the problem is up here.”
“What did you tell him?”
“I told him you did the cell checks and I logged them.”
Potts grabbed Fromley by the collar. “When you gonna learn to keep your mouth shut?”
“But that is what we did.”
“What we did was what we usually do, and that is making up readings so we can sneak in a nap while they keep boring holes on the surface. When was the last time either of us got a good night’s sleep? You think out there in the Barents with the wind, waves, and currents, rocking and rolling this thing like it was a fair ride?” Potts hitched up his pants. He stroked his chin. “Christ, it’s cold,” he said, blowing air to see the white breath cloud that came out.
“We better get to checking the cells,” Fromley offered.
“Yeah, we better. This time you check them and I’ll write them down.”
Fromley shuffled from one leg to the other. “But you’re better at the batteries than I am.”
“I’m better at anything than you are, From.” Potts reached forward and poked the sailor in the chest a couple of times. “And don’t you forget it.”
Potts grabbed the logbook. “Start at the nearest cells and work your way aft. Read the first meter, which shows the charge status, and then the second meter will show the condition of the cell to discharge. The first one you want pegged to the right. Anything less than that should show you how charged it is. The second meter will show you the ability of the cell to pass along its charge with the other cells to the electrical motor. You got that?”
“Yeah, I got it. I know all that.”
Potts took a position near the forward hatch, which was latched down tight because of the general quarters the skipper had ordered when they surfaced. You’d think the battery compartment would be warm with this much charging going on, but no—like the rest of the Squallfish—the cold Arctic weather turned the metal-encased warship into a refrigerator.
Fromley began to work his way down the line of cells, reading the two meters and reporting them to Potts.
At the logbook, Potts wrote the readouts down along a data column, recording each cell.
“Hey, we got a problem here,” Fromley said.
Potts laid the logbook on the small shelf. “What is it?” he said with a snarl. “You got a hangnail or something?”
“It’s these three,” Fromley said, pointing but not touching the three cells. “Come here,” he motioned.
Potts walked down the narrow walkway to where Fromley squatted. He squatted beside him.
“Look at the meters. They show no charge, but this meter shows them in the danger zone.”
“What the fuck!” Potts said. He leaned down and tapped the meters. Neither moved. “That can’t be right. We been charging for nearly two hours. We should be nearly one hundred percent charged.”
Fromley whimpered. “You know what this means, don’t you?”
“Yeah,” Potts said. “It means we have a few bad cells.”
Fromley shook his head. “No, it don’t. It means none of these cells on this side are going to work. If one fails, they all fail. They’re connected in series. With these three out of whack, it means none of these will work.”
The after hatch opened and Lieutenant Bleecker walked in, securing the watertight hatch behind him.
Fromley let out a deep whimper. He knew if they had checked the cells as they should, they would have caught this casualty.
It took less than three minutes for Bleecker to figure out what happened. He walked over to the sound-powered phone and ordered Gledhill to send the engineers from the after battery compartment to the forward one. It would take at least an hour to repair these three cells. When he hung up the telephone, he turned to Potts and Fromley.
“You two lay to your berthing areas and remain there. You are not to leave it except to go to the head or to the mess decks. If I see either of you outside of your berthing area, I will personally throw you overboard.”
Tears streamed down Fromley’s cheeks. Potts’s face blanched white.
“But Lieutenant—” Potts began.
“Fuck you, Potts; and you, too, Fromley. You two may have killed us. We are miles away from international waters and because you two didn’t do your jobs you have put us in a position where if we have to run for it submerged, we might as well surrender because we will only have the aft battery compartment to power the electric motor. All because you two gun-decked your duties.” Bleecker was angry. He never should have given these two a second chance. He thought Potts worth saving and that Potts had the potential to turn himself into a good sailor. From-ley! Fromley was a sycophant who could go back to being a civilian. He would never make a sailor. Why Bleecker thought Fromley was harmless was unforgivable. He knew he was responsible for this, even as he knew both of them were going to be court-martialed if they got out of here alive.
He looked around the battery compartment, then back at the two sailors standing in front of him. “Get out of my sight. I never want to see you two again until the court-martial.”
“Court-martial,” Fromley wailed. “I only did what Potts told me to.”
Potts spun and with the full weight of his hefty body behind the blow, he hit Fromley upside the head. “Keep your mouth shut!”