“I thought I heard something,” Johnson said.
“I came to check things out,” Cahill said. “I’m sure you guys had it worse on this side.”
“It was like an earthquake back here. Everything was shaking, but this ship’s big enough to hack it.”
“Back here, yes. I’m concerned about how far forward we can go and still be standing inside solid steel.”
“Nobody’s gone forward of plant four yet until you give the order. It’s running hot now, ready to provide electrical load.”
“Good to know. Let’s have a look.”
He walked forward into the number four plant. A man in coveralls confirmed what hissing steam told him — he had five working MESMA units.
“Let’s check out plant two,” he said. “You ready?”
“Ready,” Johnson said.
Cahill opened the door, and the quiet, dry plant awaited. Emergency LEDs cast eerie shadows as he stepped through the doorway and turned on the overhead lighting.
“Ready to go for the recreational compartment?”
“Let’s do it,” Johnson said.
Another opened door presented a chamber of quiet shadows. After stepping between spare cannon projectiles and the Bowflex machine, Cahill reached the forward door.
He felt the metal for a temperature change and studied it for condensation, but it was dry.
“Ready to go into berthing?”
“Somebody has to,” Johnson said.
“Here we go.”
He cracked open the door and felt his blood pressure fall as low humidity and soft light greeted him.
“Dry as a bone,” Johnson said. “I could’ve stayed in bed while the torpedo did its worst.”
“Keep walking,” Cahill said. “Our luck’s about to end.”
At berthing’s forward door, he noticed condensation on it and ran the back of his hand against the cool metal. A glance through the small portal showed water droplets and fog blurring his view, but he discerned sloshing darkness.
“There’s water rising in there,” he said. “Go grab three men and come back here pronto with shoring kits.”
Curiosity compelled him to crack the seal and reveal the damage, but wisdom allowed his patience.
To pass time, he walked to a hatch, opened it, and descended rungs into the bilge. He crawled under the deck plates and stopped an arm’s distance from the watertight forward wall. Aiming a flashlight against the welds, he satisfied himself of the compartment’s structural integrity.
After climbing and standing straight, he reached for a sound-powered phone and hailed the starboard hull’s functioning tactical control center.
“Sonar supervisor.”
“This is Terry. Any new contacts or word from Pierre?”
“Nothing,” the supervisor said. “Pierre’s orders are still to make four knots due south, which is what we’re doing.”
“Very well. Let me talk to Liam.”
He heard a click as his executive officer lifted his phone.
“Liam here.”
“I’m in the port berthing area surrounded by a bunch of dry racks. I see water in the port tactical control center, though.”
“I don’t think it’s fully flooded,” Walker said.
“The trim pump’s keeping pace?”
“It’s got to be. We’re holding a neutral trim without an up angle.”
Cahill considered the news as an option to leave the damage behind the door a mystery.
“That’s encouraging,” he said.
“Wait,” Walker said. “I may have spoken too soon. We’re about half a degree down now. The strain gauges on our crossbeams are also registering a torque.”
“Keep watching. Be sure.”
A few seconds of silence passed.
“I’m sure,” Walker said. “It’s slow, but the port bow is getting heavy. The pump isn’t keeping up. If the compartment floods completely, we may lose control of the ship.”
“Or lose the ship completely,” Cahill said. “I’m sure this hasn’t been modeled in our buoyancy calculations. You’d have a better sense of the impact of the damage if you slowed.”
“How slow, then?”
“Come to all stop and see what happens when you drift to one knot.”
Sailors with canvas bags entered the compartment and walked the center corridor to Cahill.
“Set down your bags, boys. Let’s open this door and take a look. Depending what we see, we’ll either fight a battle to shore up the flooding, or we’ll declare the compartment a loss. I’m going to open it. Everyone else, stand by to close it if water rushes in.”
With five men packed beside him pressing their palms against flat metal, Cahill grabbed and rotated a circular handle. The latches slipped free from their holds, and water pushed upon the door, against which he braced his shoulder.
“How high is it?” Cahill asked. “I can’t see.”
“About a foot and half above the deck,” Johnson said.
“Take a look into the compartment. Can you see any flooding you can shore up?”
“Shit, Terry,” Johnson said. “The front bulkhead is bent inward, and I mean the whole thing. It’s like a wrecking ball hit it and bent it in. The watertight door held, but it’s leaking all around.”
“Close the door and latch it.”
Cahill pushed and felt support from his crew overpowering the water.
“We’ll head in there, Terry,” Johnson said. “We can get to the door and shore it up. We can jam the leaks with some rubber and wedges, and we can brace the door to make sure it keeps holding.”
“Sure,” Cahill said. “If you don’t mind drowning if the door pops off. No way, mate. You’re not going in there, at least not until I make it a bit safer. Hold on.”
He walked to the phone and hailed Walker.
“Liam here.”
“How’s our trim?”
“Not as good as I’d hoped,” Walker said. “We’re for sure heavy port forward. I’ll need an up angle to hold depth with speed.”
“Right. I’m going to head in there with a damage control party and shore the door. Take whatever up angle you need and keep us shallow at thirty meters.”
“I’ll take us to thirty meters with a ten-degree up angle.”
“Very well. I’ll wait while you get us there.”
Cahill turned and froze when he faced five naked men. A hasty heap of clothes rested atop a high bunk.
“What?” Johnson asked. “You expect me to soak me skivvies in there?”
“No, mate. But I expected you to get into the water first before your willie shrank.”
Ignoring muffled chuckles, Johnson marched away from the danger.
“Where are you going, Johnson? I was just playing around?”
“No offense taken. I just realized we need another person.”
Moments later, the senior sailor returned with a younger man carrying towels.
“So we don’t die of hypothermia when we’re done.”
“Good thinking,” Cahill said. “You’ve obviously pictured this in your head already. What’s on your mind?”
“Three men on the plank first to hold the door in place,” Johnson said. “Two men will work on the damaged door only after the plank is in place. I don’t want guys knocking the door off its hinges when they try to plug the leaks around it.”
“Good thinking. But that’s only five guys. Where’s the sixth man going?”
“That’s you, Terry. You close the door behind us.”
“Bullshit.”
“The ship can’t lose the captain.”
“Five of us are going in, and I’m one of them. I’m going in and will help wherever I’m needed. Lookout for the drain in the bilge, too, since Liam has the trim pump sucking from the compartment. Don’t get sucked under.”
“Good point.”
“I’m going in first, and I’m coming out last. Got it?”
Heads nodded.
“Good,” Cahill said. “Grab your gear. Get your arses in there fast, and the last three men pull the door shut.”