“No telling what shape their forward compartment’s in,” Miller commented. “For all we know she can still shoot. Hell, she might even have sonar, too. That is, if her forward batteries held up.”
Strangely, the thought had never occurred to Edwards, and he cursed himself for letting his emotions cloud his judgment. The lion was wounded but she was still dangerous.
“Chief of the Watch,” he called, “Pass the word again throughout the ship. Remind all stations to maintain the rig for ultra quiet. I don’t want to hear a peep out of anyone.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” the chief said as he keyed his phone to pass the word.
Machinists Mate Third Class Myron Dean strolled through the lower level of the engine room with his log clipboard in hand, dutifully make his rounds from one bay to the next, despite the ominous explosions he’d heard outside the ship. This was his first time standing watch after his fall, and though he could still feel the tenderness in his bandaged ribs, he was glad to be contributing once again. His rescue from the island, coupled with the courteous treatment he’d received from Lieutenant Coleman, had changed his outlook on everything despite all the tragedy he’d witnessed over the past few days. He felt as thought he’d been granted a new lease on life.
Standing watch in the lower level of the engine room was generally a lonely one, and tonight was no exception. The explosions, as unsettling as they were, offered only brief moments of distraction from the secluded feeling of the watch. All of the bays, tanks and column-like pump housings made the vast and dank lower level seem like a virtual maze and could easily make a sailor feel that he had been completely forgotten. Dean sometimes wondered what would happen if the decision were ever made to abandon ship. Would anyone remember to tell him?
As he walked through the flood doors into the auxiliary seawater bay pondering his loneliness, one of the 2JV phones mounted on the bulkhead whooped. Thankful to talk to anybody, he lurched to pluck the phone off its rack.
“Engine Room Lower Level,” he said into the phone.
“Engine Room Lower Level, this is the engineering officer of the watch.” Dean recognized Lieutenant junior grade Kemper’s voice on the other end. “Petty Officer Dean, make sure you maintain the rig for ultra quiet down there, understood? Control says we’ve still got a hostile out there, so make sure you don’t go and drop something on the deck or do anything stupid to make a transient. Understand?”
“Aye, aye, sir. Understood,” Dean answered, the line going dead on the other end as Kemper probably dialed to inform another watchstander in one of the engine room’s various spaces.
Dean wasn’t sure if he liked knowing about the potential danger somewhere out in the water on the other side of Providence’s metal skin. There was little he could do about it, so why should he have to know. But, looking on the bright side, at least now he wouldn’t have to do any maintenance. He could relax, take his logs every fifteen minutes, and daydream in between.
Then he heard footfalls on the metal ladder rungs. Someone was coming down the ladder from engine room upper level. A pair of shoes descended through the portside ladder well and eventually Dean saw that it was Lieutenant Coleman. Coleman’s face looked visibly shaken, his expression indicating that he had come down to the lower level specifically to see him. As Coleman reached the base of the ladder and began crossing the bay, walking between the various pump housings, Dean noticed the single paper log clutched in one of his hands.
A moment of panic suddenly came over Dean when he realized what it was. But his panic quickly turned into brute shock when he saw a long dark object flash out from behind one of the pump housings and strike Coleman squarely on the back of the head. Dean heard the thud from the impact and watched the lieutenant’s limp form fall facedown on the deck, a trickle of blood flowing from beneath his hair to mix with his blue uniform and white T-shirt.
Coleman was not moving and Dean instinctively knelt down to try to help the unconscious officer, but his blood ran cold as a shadow suddenly blocked the light above him. Looking up, he saw Van Peenan step out from behind the pump housing, his blistered face wearing a scowl that could cut through the pressure hull, his right hand clutching a crescent wrench red with Coleman’s blood. He must have been hiding behind the pump housing while Dean was taking his rounds in the other bays, and Dean shuddered to think what might have happened if Kemper hadn’t called him on the 2JV at the moment he did, or if he had walked past the pump first instead of Coleman. It might have been him lying on the deck in a pool of blood.
“Well go ahead and fuck me,” Van Peenan snarled with a sickening smile as he glanced down at Coleman’s still form, giving it a swift kicked in the ribs. “It looks like I’ve got my department back, ay, Dean?”
“What’s going on, Eng?” Dean said, trying hard not to show any fear. “Why’d you hit him?”
“Funny thing about close explosions outside a submarine!” Van Peenan said almost in a different voice as he stepped closer to Dean, “You never know what they’re going to do to the people inside.”
Dean began to scoot backward, moving away, but Van Peenan kept moving closer, slapping the bloody wrench into his left hand, seemingly oblivious to the bits of blood, hair, and flesh that came off in it.
“You’ve fucked with my career once too often, young Dean! Now I’m going to make sure you never fuck with it again!”
Dean ducked just in time to avoid the fast moving wrench as it whipped past his head and collided with the bay’s metallic bulkhead, the resulting crash reverberating throughout the entire lower level of the engine room. Before he could think, Van Peenan lunged again, this time kicking him in his bandaged ribs. The pain put Dean on the deck, but he was still able to roll in time to avoid the next swing of Van Peenan’s wrench. It hit the metal deck where Dean’s head had been a millisecond before, sparking and sending vibrations along the linked deckplates.
Van Peenan was off balance for only a moment, and Dean took the opportunity to get away from his reach, stumbling aft. But the immense pain must have affected his judgment, because going aft brought him to a dead end. The auxiliary seawater bay ended with the sharp curvature of Providence’s pressure hull, and there was no way out. As Dean realized his error, he turned to see that Van Peenan had realized it too.
The crazed engineer slowly walked toward him, his face wearing an evil grin as he once again rapped the bloody wrench into his open palm.
Edwards and Miller had just been discussing what to do with Providence’s still-running torpedo when the sonar chief’s agitated voice squawked from the overhead speaker.
“Conn, Sonar! Transient, own ship! Transient, own ship!”
“Damn it!” Edwards shouted. He normally didn’t lose his temper, but this really was Submarining 101. “Chief of the Watch, didn’t I tell you to remind all stations?”