“Tell them to quicken the pace. They are taking too long.” He looked at the stern of the Whale. The aft escape hatch above the torpedo room was hidden beneath the surface. Forward, the bow was riding higher.
He could have told them that. The forward escape hatch was well above the waterline. That was another egress point for the hoses. “Condition of the reactor room?”
“We don’t know, sir. Lieutenant Tumanov just reported that he has ordered the reactor room abandoned. He says it is taking on water.”
“Who gave him the order to abandon his post?” Anton shouted, anger flushing through him.
“Tumanov says it is on automatic. Nothing they can do with water seeping through the hatch between the engine room and the forward torpedo room.”
“Seeping is not flooding,” Anton said. He raised his binoculars and scanned the dark shadows of the coastline.
“Distance to shallow water?” he asked.
“Sir, if I may suggest, we are less than ten kilometers to the facility. We are not going to get much shallower here,” Gesny said, finishing his sentence as his head appeared in the hatch. “We might be able to make it to the facility.”
It was an idea. It was better than searching for a shallow place to sink.
“Make it so, XO. Take charge, change course as you need, and get us heading toward it.”
“I will relieve you shortly,” Gesny said.
“No!” he snapped. “We are in our right places until this is decided. Present speed?”
“We are still making twelve knots, Captain. The electricians are reporting a strain on the shaft, and the electric motor is nearing the red zone, but we are making way.”
“Very well.”
Gesny’s head started to disappear belowdecks.
“Wait!” Anton said, bending down to the hatch. Their faces were less than a foot apart. “Keep us afloat for another forty-five minutes, XO. If the men can do that, we will be inside and at the dock.”
Gesny nodded and disappeared down the deck.
Anton stood and looked at the aft portion of the submarine. If the water reached the reactor before they reached the facility, then everything would disappear in the explosion. Regardless of the power source, water hitting superheated temperatures created explosions. The reactor would be scattered over the hillside, surrounded by the body parts and metal of the Whale.
“Open the forward hatch, XO, but be prepared to shut it. I cannot slow down. Tell Bleecker and the torpedomen to expect some water, since it is breaking across the bow. I’ll keep it open ten minutes, no longer.”
Moments later, the forward main hatch opened and clanged on the deck. A sailor crawled out, wearing his heavy foul-weather jacket and a life jacket over it.
Shipley lifted the megaphone. “Hey, you!”
The sailor looked up.
“Get below, and when you get the word, then secure the hatch. Understand?”
The sailor nodded and gratefully went back belowdecks.
The last thing he needed was a man washed overboard. He shivered from the decision he would make if that happened.
The bagpipes of a secure communications synching up caught Katshora’s attention. The communications officer grabbed the handset. He could not hear what they were saying, but he was focused on the report coming from the Whale through the bridge-to-bridge radio.
Zotkin had finally run out of steam and was sitting in Katshora’s chair near the starboard bridge wing. Someone had given the scientist a hot cup of tea. Hopefully it would keep the man quiet.
“What do you think, Captain Kuvashin?”
“I do not know, Admiral. If the submarine makes it back to its berth, then it would make it much easier to raise if it sinks — I think. I don’t know enough about the test to understand its importance, but it seems to be important to our scientists.”
Katshora nodded. Not everyone was aware of the atomic engineering plant on board the Whale. Most thought it was testing new submerging and weaponry technology. Only those with security clearances such as his understood the true purpose of the tests.
“Go ahead, Captain Zegouniov, and try to make the facility. We are closing your position.”
After Anton had acknowledged Katshora, the aged admiral turned to Kuvashin. “Are we ready to tow if necessary?”
“Yes, sir, Admiral. I have two hawsers laid out aft. My chief starshina boatswain mate has his crew standing by.”
“If we have to tow the Whale, Captain Kuvashin, I want to execute taking the submarine in tow the first time. We cannot afford to have any hiccups on doing this. Understand?”
“Yes, sir.” Kuvashin went to the Soznatelnyys intercom and called the officer in charge of the tow party. He relayed not only the importance, but also ensured that the young lieutenant understood who would be held responsible if it failed.
Meanwhile, Katshora passed along the fallback plan to Anton so the submarine would be ready for towing. After they discussed it, Katshora and Anton realized that if the Whale was to be towed it would be bow first because the water over the aft portion of the submarine was approaching the conning tower. The bow seemed to be rising rapidly. He leaned against the railing, compensating for the tilt of the deck.
“Hydrogen is down to three percent,” Gledhill reported.
The intercom rang. Gledhill answered it. It was the control room asking how long.
“How long what?” Bleecker asked, a little miffed. “How long until we can finish the repairs? How long until we can start charging? How long until we have a full charge?” The knife slipped, nicking his finger. He sucked it for a second. “Tell them when I know they’ll know,” he said with a snarl. Then he mumbled, “Unless that’s the captain asking.”
Gledhill looked at Bleecker and then at the toggle switch, as if trying to decide how to respond to Lieutenant Weaver.
Bleecker rose from his squatting position and went to the intercom, wiping his bleeding finger on his pants.
“Alec, Greaser here. Here is what we have to do, and here is a projected timeline. Right now we are down to about three percent hydrogen in the forward compartment room. At this rate it’s going to be another ten minutes until we reach two percent, when I’ll feel safe about throwing the safety switch back to charge. Repairs are going to take another ten to fifteen minutes. Then, it’s going to take about an hour to charge the batteries. I think that sums up the timeline.”
“Wait one,” Weaver acknowledged, as if knowing Bleecker was already heading back to his repair work.
“Jesus,” Bleecker said, returning to the intercom. Alec was most likely relaying his words to Shipley. Bleecker watched the hydrogen reading as he waited. It was below 3 percent. Four percent was the critical point.
“Greaser, Alec here. Skipper says go ahead and finish repairs. Hold off on cranking up the recharge until he gives the go-ahead. He is also closing the forward main hatch. Too much water.”
“He understands we run the risk of having a spark light off this hydrogen, if we don’t lower it?”
“He understands. He also understands that we’re at three percent, so there is little chance of that happening.”
“Not little chance; less chance.”
“He said go ahead and finish the repairs, but hold off on reconnecting the forward batteries to the diesel.”
Bleecker started to argue about this book learning the skipper was throwing at him, but Shipley was the skipper, and they were running toward the narrows. He sighed. At least the skipper was a veteran and understood what combat required.