“Starboard, are you on station?” Surface asked. “Look, there may be more of them. Anything you see, I want to hear about it immediately.”
“Roger, Starboard is in position.” She hesitated for a moment, aware that she should avoid cluttering the circuit with unnecessary chatter, but not able to avoid asking, “The fire. How bad is it?”
“We don’t know. I’ll tell you soon as I hear something. In the meantime, keep your eyes on the water.”
Smith was cursed with an unusually vivid imagination and it kicked in now, trying to distract her from her watchstanding. She could see how the flames below looked, the liquid way that they raced up bulkheads and ceilings, enveloping fire mains and fuel lines, reaching out with tendrils of heat to seek skin and flesh, growing, engulfing the entire ship. She was so far from the water, so far, the equivalent of an eight-story building from it. If the fire grew out of control, how in the world would she ever get off the bridge? The way down to the lifeboat stations would be blocked, too, and she held no illusions about her ability to survive jumping from the bridge wing into the sea. Even if she avoided hitting the part of the flight deck that jutted out, the fall alone could very well be fatal. She saw her crumpled bleeding body floating facedown in the sea, tendrils of blood streaking the water, and a knife fin cutting through the water toward her.
Stop it. You’ve got a job to do. By a supreme effort of will, she forced herself to ignore the pictures her mind insisted on creating, and concentrated on the water. But one part of her mind remained focused on the fire below, asking incessantly just how bad it was.
Fourteen feet away from the fire, Williams came to an abrupt halt. The heat was already painful on his face and hands, although not yet unbearable. The darker parts of his mind responsible for his self-preservation instincts were screaming loud warnings, trying to force him to turn around. The realization that the fire before him was a wild creature, not a chimera under the control of the damage-control-simulator people, came crashing in. For a moment, caught between the instinct for self-preservation and his conscious knowledge of what had to be done, Williams could not move.
“What’s wrong?” the man behind him shouted. Williams felt the hose slack starting to accumulate around him. “Go on, go on!”
Williams forced himself to take one step, and then another, his hand steady on the hose and the bail, focusing on the base of the fire. He was too far away now — another ten feet, maybe a little more, and he could unleash the torrential power of his fire hose on the creature before him.
He concentrated on his feet, staring down at the black safety boots’ leather and steel toes, forcing them to move one at a time. The heat grew harder and harder to withstand, but he made himself move. If he didn’t, he would not be the only one in danger. The fire had to be contained before it could spread to the aircraft or the rest of the ship.
“Now!” the man behind him shouted. “Go on, sweep the base!”
Williams flipped back the handle of the nozzle, opening it completely. He staggered backwards as the hose tried to squirm out of his hands, a powerful stream of water mixed with foam shooting out the end of it toward the fire. The hose was bucking in his hands like a python, trying to escape. He clung to it grimly, getting the nozzle back under control and sweeping the stream of AFFF across the base of the fire. He was dimly aware of another fire crew approaching from the other side of the fire, doing the same thing.
Williams moved to his left, putting himself and his fire hose between the fire and helicopter closest to it. Over my dead body, he thought. As he saw the fire start to respond to the cooling water and the suffocating foam, he felt a wild surge of savage glee. Take that, you bastard. And that. Now more confident, he had the nozzle firmly under control, and chose his attack points with more precision.
The effects of the two hoses was starting to be evident. The fire was broken into patches now, fighting against the water and the foam but growing smaller by the minute. Behind it, the bulkheads were charred and blackened, paint peeling off, with twisted lumps of metal that used to be a tool case.
Take that. And that. The fire was almost out now, but Williams felt himself losing control. He longed to run forward and stamp the remaining flames out himself, making it personal. This wasn’t just a catastrophe, it was personal. And by God, he was going to make the fire pay for it.
“That’s enough,” a voice behind him said, and a hard hand clamped down on his shoulder. “Secure the hose. Come on, wild man — that’s enough.”
Dazed, Williams did not respond. A hand reached forward and flipped the hose bail forward, cutting off the stream of foam. Two more men crowded up beside him, peeling his hands off the nozzle and taking the hose from him. They stepped away, holding the still-charged hose, a look of awe in their eyes.
“Wild man, that’s what you are,” the damage-control petty officer said, the gruffness in his voice masking the compliment. “I thought you were going to walk into the middle and start from the inside out.” He turned to the two men now holding the hose. “Set the reflash watch. Stay here until I relieve you.” He lifted his damage-control radio to his mouth and said, “Central, Team Leader. Fire out. Reflash watch set. Sending the investigator to check for damage in the adjoining compartments now.”
“Roger, copy fire out, reflash set. As soon as your investigator confirms no damage to the compartment below, I’ll recommend we secure from General Quarters.”
Williams was barely aware of the conversation going on around him. Sudden weariness swept over him as the adrenaline left his system. It had been a long day, too long. Now, he was so tired he could barely stay on his feet.
A corpsman appeared at his side, intense green eyes staring at it at him from behind ugly black-framed glasses. “Let me get a look at you. Come over here and sit down.” The corpsman took him by the elbow and led him to a stack of pallets. He made Williams sit and crouched down in front of him.
“Do you know where you are?” the corpsman asked.
Williams stared at him. Of course he knew where he was. He was in hell, but hell was disguised as an aircraft carrier. Just then, he became aware of the ugly stench of burnt metal contained in the smoke around him. He ran a hand over his face, surprised to find that it was unburnt.
“What’s your name?” the corpsman asked.
“Williams. And yeah, I know where I am. At the fire — geez, man, I’m just tired. That’s all.”
The corpsman examined his face carefully. “This is going to be uncomfortable, but it’s nothing serious. Just first-degree burns. You may have some coughing for a while from the smoke inhalation. Don’t you guys know you’re supposed to just contain it until the damage-control team in full suits gets there?”
“I had to put it out,” Williams said numbly.
The corpsman just shook his head. “Next time, don’t get so close.”
Next time. There will be a next time. A wave of despair rushed over him.
“Secure from General Quarters,” the loudspeaker ordered. Smith felt a rush of relief. If the fire was out, then there couldn’t be any more danger, could there? No, they would not have secured from General Quarters if there could be.
While the crew was putting out the fire in the hangar bay, the carrier had launched four helicopters from their spots along the side of the flight deck. They were now combing the ocean around the carrier, spotlights illuminating the water below, searching every inch of the sea within a two-mile radius for any other small boats. To the starboard, a small sputtering fire burned, debris from the first boat.