Forward, and the missile launch cells might be irreparably damaged, not to mention the danger they would pose to firefighters. Completely astern, and there was a risk of fatal injury to the propeller itself, in which case the Lake Champlain would be a floating hole in the water completely at the mercy of waves and the sea. So where, if he had to take the hit, would he prefer it to be? It was like deciding whether to have a right or left hand amputated — or maybe whether to lose a hand or an eye. Every part of the ship was precious to him, just as every sailor was.
And yet the decision had to be made, even if it was a wildly improbable maneuver to attempt. Astern of amidships, he decided, but not all the way astern. Somewhere in the aft third quarter of the ship, where most of what would be damaged would be living quarters and support facilities. God help them, the propeller shaft ran all the way through there as well, but there was a chance that the shock bearings would be sufficient support. Along that last one-quarter of the ship, where his shafts were exposed to water, a hit would be more dangerous.
At times like this, no one questioned him. The Lake Champlain, a marvelously maneuverable beast, pivoted smartly as the officer of the deck wisely chose to use one shaft ahead full, and one shaft astern full in order to pivot the ship. She had just time for one maneuver before the first torpedo hit.
Everyone in combat was strapped into his or her chair, but he knew that the bridge crew and men and women crowding passageways above the waterline would not fare as well.
The ship slammed violently to the right, and Norfolk felt his harness cut hard into his gut, knocking his breath out of him. The strap itself seemed determined to cut through his midsection, and his head slammed into the side of the seat. In the next instant, the ship heeled back to the other side almost as violently, and he heard his neck creak and snap as he was flung to the other side. Combat was filled with muttered curses and a few cries of pain and surprise.
The cant on the deck increased alarmingly. She was five degrees down now, maybe ten. Oh God, how bad is it? The ship continued to rock back and forth, attempting to right herself, as the impact of the torpedo reverberated throughout her hull.
There were loud moans coming from some sections of combat now, and the captain could only imagine the damage the attack had done to the bridge. Even if they were braced, holding on for dear life to structural supports and stanchions, the impact must have flung them around the compartment like rag dolls.
And inside the ship — well, he would know soon enough. There was no time to worry, not if he was going to keep the ship afloat.
“Damage report!” he snapped at the TAO, marveling at his own voice. “Come on, mister — we’re still afloat.”
The sound-powered phone circuits sprung to life now, as weak, sometimes broken voices began summarizing the situation for them.
The torpedo had hit in the general area he’d hoped for, although not as forward as his best projection. It had penetrated in the lowest compartments, blasting a gaping hole open in them, and then continuing on through the ship before finally exploding. There was a massive fire in the ports stern sections of the ship, the investigator was reporting. No apparent casualties from the explosion, since everyone had been evacuated.
On the bridge, the situation was serious. The XO had been slammed against the hatch, and had slumped unconscious to the deck. The officer of the deck had not been able to ascertain his condition yet due to taking a fairly hard hit himself. There were no apparent fatalities, but numerous injuries. At that very moment, the officer of the deck was handling the helm himself, while the junior officer of the deck checked on everyone’s condition. Did the captain have any orders?
“Not at the moment — we’ll probably want to come right before long, to try to stabilize her. Give me a full steering gear check, including both rudders and both rudder cables. Tell me how much maneuverability we have left.”
And then the reports began arriving in from engineering. The damage control teams were spreading out throughout the ship, fighting to contain the smoke, fire and flooding. Containing, then starting to push them back until they occupied the smallest possible area.
The chief engineer was in main control, which was co-located with damage control central. He was fully suited in his general quarters gear except for a firefighting ensemble and breathing apparatus.
Every alarm and telltale inside damage control was howling. Red lights flashed across all the status boards, indicating fires, flooding, and massive damage.
The chief engineer grabbed a sound-powered phone connected to the primary investigator. “As soon as they set smoke, fire, and flooding boundaries, I want a full report on shaft alley,” he said, referring to the long compartment that crossed watertight bulkheads in the shaft’s transit from the turbines to propellers. “Our first priority is to restore full maneuverability.”
“Roger, sir. I can tell you that we probably lost the port shaft. It’s still intact, but she looks like she’s been badly warped. I’m not sure if we should even try to put any knots on her — it may just do more damage. The good news, though, is that the starboard shaft looks like it’s okay.”
The engineer breathed a sigh of relief. Even if both shafts had been damaged, they could have made slow forward speeds with the bow thrusters. But the small pump jets were designed for maneuvering, and for emergency propulsion, not for the long haul back across the Pacific to a shipyard. He wasn’t even sure that they would stand up without burning out.
“The next question is steering. Can you get into aftersteering?”
“Hold on, sir. I’m going to move aft.”
The primary investigator unplugged from a sound-powered phone jack and made his way aft. He came back on line, and said “I’m not so sure, sir. The hatch is still intact, but it’s badly sprung. There may be a fair amount of flooding back there. What me to check the telltale?” The telltale was a small, independently operated access to allow personnel to check whether or not a compartment was flooded. It was easy to shut, where the massive hatch would not be if the full force of the water were against it. “What do the flooding indicators say?”
The chief engineer glanced at the enunciator board, then said, “It says flooding, but it says that about every compartment, even the ones we know are okay. I’m not inclined to trust it.”
“Okay, sir, let me try the telltale.” There was a moment of silence, then, “There’s a little water in there on the deck, sir, but nothing that amounts to anything. I’d like people standing by, though, before I open the hatch.”
“How deep?”
“From the little I can see, about six inches. I don’t see any major change, but that could change when I open the hatch.”
The engineer made his decision. “Stand by until I can get a team down there — we’ve got other things to take care of first, but they’ll get there as soon as they can. We’ll wait for the bridge to tell us whether or not they have maneuverability.”
It was a risk, albeit a small one. Attempting to actuate a damaged component could result in further problems, up to and including fire. But if aftersteering did have major flooding problems, the last thing he wanted to do was create access to the rest of the ship. No, he would wait for the bridge to tell him whether or not they had adequate control of the rudders, then decide what to do after that.
“Aye-aye, sir. What next?”
“Check all compartments around, above, and below aftersteering. Then get me a follow-up report and double check the fire, smoke and flooding boundaries. I need to know what the status is on our valve lineup, as well — I think we’ll have to pump fuel and water around in order to stabilize her.”