"Enough to lift a control rod group and give us criticality?" The man shook his head. "We need the after battery to pressurize the fire mains. Sir, we need to keep running the bilge pumps too. We took a lot of water through the main shaft packing gland."
"How bad's the flooding?" Van Gelder said.
"They tightened the peripheral bolts as far as the threads can go and the inflow stopped at shallower depth. The seawater's clearing, sir, but slowly, and the free surface hinders our stability."
"That fire's the key, then, Gunther," ter Horst said. "We've got to put it out, and quickly. Messenger, have Engineering deenergize the forward bus bars."
"I'm going down there now," Van Gelder said. The smoke was growing thicker and it was getting very warm. The boat took another violent roll to starboard, still facing sideways to the mushroom cloud.
Van Gelder hurried down two ladders, through a dogged hatchway, along a companionway, and through another hatch. It felt like he was walking toward an oven. When he finally arrived, two charred corpses lay along the deck, wearing what was left of fire-fighting gear. One seemed to stare up at Van Gelder, its black and bloody face all melted, broken teeth in a now-lipless mouth, air mask fused to flesh. Above the acrid stink of smoke, even through his sealed respirator, Van Gelder smelled burned flesh and hair.
Hoses twisted everywhere, men crouching to stay below the heat, leaning into the recoil of the lines. Freshwater sprayed and white foam sloshed, making the deck treacherously slippery. The hoses roared, the fire roared and crackled.
"It started at the back," a senior chief shouted through his mask, straining to project his voice — already badly hoarse — above the constant noise.
"I can't see a blery thing," Van Gelder shouted back.
Just then another fire fighter was carried past, his face bright red, down from heat prostration. The chief turned to the stretcher bearers as they went through the hatchway aft. "Helmet!" A seaman understood, took off the fire fighter's headgear, and tossed it to Van Gelder.
Van Gelder donned the helmet, fastened the chin strap tight around his breather mask, and then flipped down the special visor. He activated the switch near his right temple. Immediately the infrared oculars gave him a false-color image through the smoke. A hose team was crouched in the doorway to the fan room, another farther back, keeping the first team drenched to cool them down. Others aimed fog nozzles toward the overhead, letting the hot gases of combustion vent their energy by making steam. Already Van Gelder was sweating from the heat and the humidity. As he watched, flames licked out through the fan room hatchway, subsided, and then came back redoubled.
"What's burning?" he yelled to the chief.
"Christ, sir, everything. We think it started when a hydraulic line ruptured from the shock, then got set off by some sparking from a damaged motor." Van Gelder nodded. Hydraulic fluid burned like gasoline.
"We dropped the pressure and sealed the line real quick, but it was too late. Mostly now the fire load's grease and lube oil in the machinery, plus all the insulation, and rubber, and the acoustic isolation pads."
"Scheisse," Van Gelder said. "They're full of PVCs, those vibration isolators. Make sure no one breathes that stuff."
"Right, sir. We know. The worst was some aluminum ignited. We couldn't reach it from the trim."
"What happened to those two?" Van Gelder said, pointing to the corpses.
"Both pitched in headfirst, right into the burning metal, when we caught that aftershock. We pulled them out with boathooks."
"Jesus."
"It's far from burning out, sir. The Class D metal fire, I mean. We just keep pouring on the water, best we can, with foam around the edges for all the Class B stuff."
"Your team's done well," Van Gelder shouted, "but you've got to keep going."
"Yes, sir. We've got auxiliary lines covering the exposures, hosing down each bulkhead from the other side."
"Good."
"Not good, sir. The bus bars from the batteries are right underneath."
"Can't we cool them down somehow?"
"Not while the fire's still going. It's just too hot. They're insulated against shorts and arcing, not a thermal overload."
The hotter the bus bars got, Van Gelder knew, the greater their resistance. It was like the opposite of superconductivity: chaotic outer electron shell paths from the overexcited molecular motions.
"So what are you suggesting?" Van Gelder said.
"The problem's getting in there, sir, to get at the seat of the fire. Our longest foam applicators only reach four meters, and the water isn't going where it should." There was a sharp thump and a fireball blasted into the passageway. Everybody dropped fast to the deck. Van Gelder thanked the Lord when the flaming vapors went the other way, then he felt shame over his selfishness. At least the other crewmen have their fireretardant Nomex suits, he told himself.
"That was hydrogen, probably," the old chief shouted, "from the metals that are still on fire contacting the water."
"How much freshwater do we have left in the tanks?"
"Less than half, sir. We have to get this thing under control. We take in seawater now, or use the forward trunk to ventilate, we'll pollute the ship."
Again Van Gelder nodded. Again an injured fire fighter was carried aft, screaming in pain, writhing on the stretcher.
"Someone has to get inside," Van Gelder said.
"Sir, it's a thousand centigrade in there! We can barely keep the blaze from spreading as it is!"
"We have to," Van Gelder shouted. "This heat builds up much longer, we'll be forced to abandon ship … A steam entry suit! It might hold long enough to let someone knock down the worst hot spots."
"In among the flames?"
"I don't see any other way," Van Gelder said. "We can't just stay like this, there's too much fallout topside. We start up the diesel now, the NBC filters will be overwhelmed." Both men ducked as something else exploded. Orange sparks flew into the corridor. A messenger arrived from the control room. Van Gelder withdrew to meet him a safe distance from the fire, both men down on hands and knees. The messenger was gasping, trying hard to catch his breath. He struggled to draw air from his respirator, straining the demand regulator to the limit.
"Sir," he finally panted, "Captain says reception's coming back. The satfeed downlink shows many inbound aircraft."
"British?"
The messenger nodded.
"How far from here?"
"Sixteen hundred kilometers, sir. Halfway from the Falklands."
"They're supersonic?"
"Yes."
"How much longer do we have?"
"The navigator says maybe half an hour, then we'd be too tightly localized to get away."
"All right," Van Gelder said. "Listen to me." He tried to make eye contact, but through his IR imagers the man appeared a spectral aura in pastel blues and pinks. Instead Van Gelder put a hand on the seaman's shoulder. "Get back to Engineering. Have them send me three steam entry suits."
"Yes, sir. Three steam entry suits."
"And on the way, tell the captain I recommend to hold off on the diesel. We might still restore the batteries in time."
"Hold off on the diesel, might still restore the batteries. Aye, aye, sir."
"We pull in the outside atmosphere," Van Gelder said, "the whole crew will end up with leukemia and lung cancer."
The messenger dashed aft, and another enlisted man approached Van Gelder, a fire fighter resting between bouts. Van Gelder flipped up his visor. Beneath his mask the crewman's eyes were watering and his nostrils dripped black phlegm. Both men braced themselves as the vessel rolled once more. The seas were dying down somewhat, but the inside air was getting much too hot.