The physician said, “You have to get your water up almost to boiling. At least a hundred and eighty degrees. Two hundred is better. Hold it there for thirty minutes, and you’ve got a sterile system. We do that with outbreaks in hospitals.”
Dan said, “Okay. The downside?”
“It doesn’t work for long-term infestation management. You’d have to follow up with some form of continuous chemical disinfection. The main problem for you is how labor-intensive it’s going to be. We’re talking isolating every section of the system, cleaning out any incrustation or scale that can harbor colonies, then charging with superheated water and maintaining it at that temperature for half an hour. The thermal expansion—”
“We’re gonna burst some pipes,” Dan said.
“Which means potential burns and scalding.”
Dan nodded, tracing the plumbing systems in his mind. He turned to Tausengelt. “Sid, an interrelated issue. CMC, you can speak to this, maybe. We’re really stressing this crew. If we break them, we can lose this ship, with or without eliminating the crud. We’re seeing equipment degradation — the reduction gear assembly on number one gas turbine generator, the water intrusion on the CRP prop system. This heat and flush Dr. Schell is describing… can we impose this extra level of work? Deployed, at condition three, in heavy seas?”
Tausengelt rubbed his face in what might be unconscious mimicry of his CO. When he took his hand away his leathery features were contorted in what looked like extreme pain.
“You okay, Master Chief?”
“Touch of trigeminal. Comes back now and then. Feels like a skilletful of hot chicken grease on your face. Uh, basically, Captain, it’s your call.”
“I know that, Master Chief. My question is, what’s going to be the effect on the crew?”
Tausengelt said slowly, “Basically, Skipper, I’d say they’re scared.”
Schell plumped down on the lower bunk beside Grissett, looking interested. He locked his fingers around one knee and rocked back.
Dan nodded. “Okay, that’s something solid. Scared of what?”
“Basically, sir, of you.”
“Scared of me?” He frowned.
“Basically, sir, you gotta understand. Now obviously I wasn’t here for the previous regime, Captain Imerson and Fahad Almarshadi and so on, but it was apparently more easygoing then.”
“It was slack and slipshod.” Dan shook his head. “And the command climate survey showed it.”
“Yessir, no argument. But some folks like it easygoing, and they haven’t been happy about all the condition three and stepped-up drills. The reinspections, and so forth. There’s always that element that wants the eight-hour day, even under way.” Tausengelt waved that away, though the grooves around his mouth dug deeper. “But it ain’t even just that. Going aground in Naples, then you coming aboard, Goodroe dying — it was like the start of a downward spiral.”
“The spiral started long before that.”
“Basically, no argument, sir, I’m just passing along what I hear. Then the crud, then all the shit since — it’s like, fatigue’s setting in. They were in awe of you at first. The Medal of Honor. How you seemed to know everything. Your, um, your command presence. But since then, it’s been operate, operate, operate — only one port call, to blow off steam — and everybody getting sick — and now it’s like, they don’t have a clue what we’re doing parked off Pakistan.” The old master chief shrugged. “The deckplates know there’s a war about to start, and we’re supposed to stop it.”
“That’s not exactly—”
“Well, it’s what they think. Sir. And those stories… the scuttlebutt about Horn, and what you did in the China Sea… that you hung a guy for murder—”
Schell whistled, leaning forward. “Hung a guy? A crewman, you mean? Actually hung?”
Dan said, “This is the Navy, Dr. Schell. Sea stories get embroidered. As you know, Master Chief. Look, let’s cut to the chase. Regardless of what the crew feels, we’re here on a national-level mission. That means we have to stay on station unless we’re totally unable to continue.
“So, Doctor, I’d like you and the chief corpsman here to huddle with Bart Danenhower. See what CHENG thinks about how many man-hours it would take to heat and flush one of our shower systems. When he’s ready to discuss it, I’ll be on the bridge.”
Dan climbed slowly to the bridge, pausing at each deck level for a breather. Like an old man, hunched, trembling, and panting.
Legionnaires’ disease. Christ! If Schell was right, they should report this. Take whatever orders NavMed came back with, most likely, return to Dubai for overhaul. The crew would bunk ashore while workers swarmed over the water systems.
But to do that, Savo Island would have to abort Odyssey Protector. And not just leave her station untenanted, but the Navy out of the ballpark on the missile defense mission. Defense News had just published a piece on the recent speedup in the sea service’s TBMD program. Which, as he recalled, Admiral Niles had mentioned too. But the follow-on ships in the pipeline—Monocacy, Hampton Roads, Omaha Beach, Salerno, Java Sea, and Guadalcanal—weren’t ready yet, though the first two were almost operational.
He stood by his command chair, clinging to it as the ship rolled. Heading: one-one-zero, nearly beam to. Van Gogh had the watch. The bridge team stood wordlessly, gripping handholds. The sea was dark blue, furrowed by the endless monsoon wind. Mitscher rode between Savo and the land, far over the horizon.
He was still up there when Bart Danenhower came up. The CHENG fingered his striped locomotive-driver’s cap, staring past Dan at the sea as they went over the fuel-consumption figures. On patrol off the Levant, they’d evolved a nonstandard, unapproved low-speed mode, with one shaft powered and the other idled. They could loiter at six knots and still be quiet, if submarine detection ranges were a consideration. Which they were; if either Pakistan or India decided Savo was an impediment, a torpedo might be the most readily deniable solution. Dan made a mental note to jack up Zotcher’s sonar team. “Okay. So, how many days’ steaming left? Before we have to leave station?”
“Twelve days to 30 percent.”
At 30 percent he had to either leave, or get a firm commitment for refuel. So far, no one had responded to Cheryl’s plea for support, and he still didn’t have a commitment from the USN, either. “Jeez, I don’t know. And we still have to run everything from main control?”
“So if you suddenly need to crank on the knots, it’ll take five, ten extra minutes.”
Not all that long… unless you were trying to evade an incoming weapon. He massaged his eye sockets. Danenhower looked tired too; the black mustache drooped; he leaned against the navigation console with eyelids nearly closed. So Dan didn’t feel good about asking, “New subject. Did Doc get with you about what they think the crud is? And this hot-water flush they’re proposing. I’m really up against it, Bart. He wants to report this to NavMed. They’ll order us to leave station. Which we can’t, not now. Not with what’s going on up north.”
The Baylor grad scratched a heavy eyebrow. “Amoebas in the hot-water heaters.”
“Is what they propose doable with the equipment we have? And the available manpower?”
“Well, it would’ve been easier aboard Peary.”
“That was a Knox-class.”
“Right, did my ensign tour aboard her. Twelve-hundred-pound steam plant. In fact, I was discussing with the Doc, it’d be easier and maybe more thorough to do this with saturated steam, not boiling water. Fortunately, we still got some steam aboard.”