“Can we make it six miles?”
The officer spoke into the mouthpiece and waited. He shook his head. “Hines says not a chance.”
Dammit. Most ships took time to sink, sometimes even hours, but some took only minutes. And his was going to be one of them.
Krogstad stood thinking, desperately searching his brain for a way out. There wasn’t one. His face took on a look of painful resignation. “Tell the Chief to get out.”
Below deck, Hines was searching for Velasquez. The fire was almost out, thanks to the CO2, but the water was rising rapidly.
He grabbed what was left of the railing from the quarterdeck and leaned over, trying to see forward through the eerie red hue of the emergency lights.
He saw something.
The object was floating on top of the water among the debris but wasn’t moving. The water’s powerful surge caused the dark mass to swirl in a wide circle, bumping against the starboard hull and slowly circling back toward Hines.
It was just out of reach. Hines gripped the railing tighter, leaned out, and stretched as far as he could. The object bobbed closer, almost within range. It was Velasquez. And thankfully, he was on his back, but it was unclear whether he was still breathing. Hines reached out further, straining the length of his arms. Velasquez was closer now. Closer. Closer.
The surge suddenly shifted and Velasquez began to move away. Hines pawed at the water trying to draw him in. The further Velasquez moved, the more forcefully Hines splashed at the water in front of him. For a split second, it seemed as though Hines was winning, but a wave of dread spread across his face when he realized he was wrong. The abrupt change wasn’t because Velasquez was coming closer again; it was because the remaining deck that Hines was standing on was moving. In that moment, the deck bent outward just before the steel grating broke and Hines plunged into the black water.
“I lost contact with Hines, sir!”
“Are we still moving?”
“Yes, sir! But we’re getting heavy and slowing. I don’t know how much further we’ll get.”
Just minutes after the explosion, Krogstad reached the sickening realization that he was out of options. The world seemed to slow for a moment as Krogstad considered his next and last command. It was a command that no captain ever wanted to give. He headed for the door and yelled to his men.
“Kill the engine and sound the horn! Then get out!’
Below, on the rear of the main deck, Clay helped pull people to their feet and looked them over for serious injuries. The explosion had flattened everyone, but none was too bad. Some broken bones and a little blood but most could at least stand on their own. The medical staff was moving from person to person, examining them.
Krogstad had done it. He had managed to absorb as much of the torpedo’s explosion as possible with minimal loss of life.
Clay abruptly felt his balance change as the ship began to roll to port. He grasped a nearby vertical support and wrapped an arm around Alison, while the others stumbled and bumped into each other. The ship was beginning to list.
Then he heard it. They all heard it. In fact, everyone within a twenty-mile radius heard it: the ship’s deafening horn. The powerful sound resonated outward so deeply that it caused everyone’s chest bones to vibrate. And it was so overwhelming that not a single sound could be heard over it.
The four long blasts were a signal that no one could miss, nor its message.
ABANDON SHIP.
57
An emergency situation aboard a ship filled with a trained military crew was far different than one filled with civilian tourists. The first instinct of the tourists was usually fear, followed by screaming. On a Navy boat, the first instinct was remembering the drill.
In less than fifteen seconds, the nearby crew had reached the tubular storage containers on each side of the stern. The seals were immediately broken and lids lifted up to reveal the inflatable life rafts packed inside. From the center of the stern deck, the Chief Mate was barking commands, watching each side remove and prepare to lower the rafts. The drill required the rafts be out in two minutes. The Bowditch crew would do it in a minute and a half.
Clay motioned to Commander Lawton and together they ushered Alison and her team to the front of the line. After the rafts were lowered over the side, the civilians were corralled toward the ladder and instructed to descend over the outside of the ship. Alison went last, but when she cleared the edge, she stopped and looked at Clay curiously. He hadn’t moved.
“John?”
Clay moved to the ladder and lowered his voice. “Get in the raft, Alison. I’ll be right behind you.”
Her face grew anxious, and she stared at him for what seemed like a long moment. But the others climbing onto the ladder forced Alison’s progress.
Clay smiled. “Don’t worry.”
Alison was nearly shoved down the ladder by the others scrambling past and Clay disappeared from view. It was only when she was out of sight that he turned and ran. He had to get to the science lab.
Clay had barely reached the ladder in the center of the first deck when he saw Captain Krogstad descending from above. The rest of his crew from the bridge followed closely behind him. Krogstad spotted Clay and promptly stepped aside when reaching the bottom, allowing the rest of his men to pass.
“Get those life rafts in the water!” Krogstad called after them. He looked at Clay. “Clay, come with me.”
“Where to?”
“We’ve got men below deck.”
Clay nodded in acknowledgement, immediately running after Krogstad. The plant would have to wait.
Together the two rushed down a nearby ladder to the second deck. The entire length of the walk was solid metal. The oversized doors they passed along the starboard side housed various maintenance equipment and tools. The largest was the ship’s condenser, which created fresh water from vapor, and could still be heard running when Krogstad and Clay passed it. Much of the power was still on.
The next ladder led down to the quarterdeck and was already submerged in water. They slid down and splashed up to their waists.
The dark surging water was ominous. Debris from the destruction floated everywhere they looked. Much of it were chunks of plastic and other materials, but some were larger pieces of metal, twirling on end, with only the tip exposed above the water. The sheer power of the surge kept the objects eerily suspended far above the bottom.
“HINES!” called Krogstad. “HINES, WHERE ARE YOU?!”
Clay turned around and repeated the call back toward the stern. After a brief pause for listening, they both called out again, louder.
There was no sign of anyone. The only sound was the merciless seawater surging around them and rising quickly.
They continued calling, eyes straining through the dim light. Both men could feel the limits of the thin oxygen, supplied only by the openings from the decks above. They called again, searching more frantically as the cold water reached their chests.
Hines was gone.
The rising water and its increasing weight on the port side caused the ship to suddenly list again. Both men instantly steadied themselves with the ladder, but the listing did not stop. The ship continued to roll, passing thirty-five, then forty degrees.
Clay and Krogstad scrambled awkwardly back up the ladder to the second deck, trying to make their way up the catwalk. As they reached the next ladder, the momentum of the roll reached the critical forty-five degrees, and all hell broke loose.