“It’s all stored,” Berg said.
“Okay, here’s the deal,” Jaenisch continued, rolling out of his rack and climbing up to Berg’s. “Make sure your maulk is stored. Except. There are sick bags here,” he said, opening up one of the small storage compartments. “Make sure you’ve got at least one available. The CO’s going to go to full power underwater to outrun the Akulas. You’ll know we’re starting the speed run when the music starts. Then he’s going to jump out of the water. You just hang onto the zero-gee straps. Keep your bunk elevated. If you’ve got to puke, puke into the bag and seal it. Keep your door closed and your circulator on high in case somebody misses their bag. When we’re out of gravity it will get better. But as soon as we’re out of gravity we’ve got chores to do.”
“Aye, aye,” Berg said, grinning. “Sounds like fun.”
“You wish,” Jaenisch said as music started pounding over the 1-MC. “Grapp, here we go.” He jumped to the deck and rolled into his bunk, closing the door.
All down the corridor, doors that had been open were closing and Berg quickly followed suit. Then, just to be sure, he didn’t just hold onto the zero-gee straps but pulled them across his legs and midsection, cinching them down. As he did he began to feel acceleration pressing him back into his bunk.
He grabbed the straps though when it felt like the boat was coming apart.
“Holy grapp!” he shouted, not that anyone could hear him. All he could think was that the sub, which was clearly hammering through the water, was not designed for this sort of punishment. If anything went wrong, they were going to die. Probably fast, but not necessarily. Messily, for sure.
Then the sub nosed up, pressing him downward harder than any combat flight he’d ever been on. Suddenly, the rumbling stopped and for a moment that made him even more worried.
“It’s okay,” Jaen yelled. “We’re in atmosphere. Hold on, though.”
As he said that, the sub dropped and banked, pulling more gees, high positive ones then dropping through free fall and into negative.
It was like being on a roller coaster where the only thing you could see was a blank steel wall a few inches from your face. Already nauseated, Berg grabbed the puke bag and put it to use.
He mag sealed that one and grabbed another as the sub went through a series of maneuvers that seemed designed to make him puke. Finally, though, the sensation of madcap flight stopped and things settled. In fact, it felt like they were back in port.
“Whew,” he said, sealing the second bag and kicking up his air recirculator. As soon as most of the smell was gone he opened his bunk.
“That was nasty,” Berg said. “Is it always like that?”
“Pretty much,” Jaenisch said, rolling out of his bunk. “We’re supposed to go clean our M-10s in the mess. First Platoon is doing Wyvern maintenance in the missile compartment, Third is on sleep cycle.”
“Lucky Third,” Berg said, rolling out of his bunk and dropping to the deck.
“Come on,” Jaenisch said, walking towards the rear hatch. “We’re first up and we need to clear the compartment.”
“Leveling off at angels one-zero-zero,” the pilot said. The gravitational and “G” effect had practically disappeared. Down was the deck. Up was the overhead. Even the level off couldn’t be felt.
“Pressure check,” the CO said, standing up and walking over to the board.
The chief of boat ignored him as he dialed up on the pressure in the boat. The CO was, after all, the CO. But a good sub skipper would have let the grapping chief handle this. He flexed his jaw to let his ears pop as the pressure in the boat came up. After the speed run, hell at any time, there was a chance that a seal could have popped. The pressure check was designed to detect that.
“Pressure steady after one minute,” the COB said.
“Roger. XO, announce all silence for pressure check.”
“All hands, all hands. Silent running for pressure check.”
“What?” Miller asked.
“Shhh,” the Marine replied. “Listen for hissing. It actually works.”
“Pressure check?” Berg asked.
“Doesn’t count with us,” Jaen said. “It’s a crew announcement.”
“Sorry, they didn’t cover it at Paris Island,” Berg said, grinning.
“God, I want to be there the first time some DI has to,” Hattelstad said. “ ’Upon atmospheric exit your ship’s skipper will call for pressure check to ensure air integrity. This command means nothing to Marines, for we are hard as steel. Space Marines therefore neither leak at-moh-sphere nor need at-moh-sphere!’ ”
“I don’t hear anything,” Mimi said, blinking.
“We wouldn’t in here,” Julia said, shaking her head vigorously. She hadn’t been able to clear her left ear and it was painful. “This room is in the middle of the add-ons they put in the missile room. But there are sailors moving around listening for leaks. They’ll dial down the pressure in just a minute.”
“All sections check clear for leakage,” the XO said. “Pressure drop, nominal. Space drive nominal, ardune generator nominal. Heat sink… nominal.”
The last was important. The engines, various electronics, and human bodies installed in the boat created a huge amount of heat. Underwater it was dispersed into that magnificent heat sink molecule H2O. In space, the heat dissipated poorly.
The answer was a new and innovative heat sink. Installed in the slots that on a normal sub held the towed array sonar were two extensible cylinders of, essentially, glass with some iron and a few other trace elements thrown in. Heat from the sub would be pumped into them until they were boiling hot. The mixture of molten silicon dioxide (glass) and other elements were perfect reservoirs for thermal energy until the molten tubes reached near vaporization state. At that point, the boat would have to find a deep space, very cold, spot and “chill.” To extend the heat capacity of the tubes they were surrounded in liquid metal heat-pipes that flowed out to the underside of the spaceship. The heat-pipes would radiate some of the energy into space and the liquid would cool and be flowed back over the molten glass tubes. This only bought time; eventually the thermal load became far more than the thermal management system could handle and “chilling” would be necessary.
“Recommend we come to heading two-one-eight or head out, sir,” Weaver said. “We’re going to be in range of NASA sensors in Australia in two minutes.”
“XO, are we all clear for space ops?” the CO asked.
“Certify clear for space ops,” the XO said.
“Astrogation?”
“Recommend come to heading one seven eight, mark one dot three. Two hundred G delta-V to two-zero-zero kilometers per second. We’ll be to two planetary diameters in two minutes and seven seconds at that acceleration and velocity, then we can go to Warp One. Maintain Whiskey Two Dot Five for niner seconds at Warp One, then turn to heading two-zero-five increase to Warp Three. Saturn orbit on that heading is seven seconds.”
“Why not a direct course?” the CO asked.
“Alpha Centauri is currently on the back side of the sun, sir,” Weaver said. “We sort of need to fly around the system to get there. And if we cut closer than that course, we risk hitting Mars. Not close or anything, but I’d prefer some margin. We could go up and over if you’d prefer…”
“No, that sounds good,” the CO said, shaking his head. “Make it so, XO. I would prefer to avoid the edges of space until we reach Saturn. But tell everybody we are leaving.”