CHAPTER 26
Silence and darkness made the Colorado’s missile compartment surreal. Dim emergency lighting turned Jake’s sneakers into silhouettes as he watched his steps alternate between the floor and tilted equipment cabinets. He used piping and valves as monkey-bars while balancing against the forty-degree starboard list.
An updraft from the bilge carried the rancid scent of leaking trash bags over Jake’s nose as he stooped through a circular hatch into the forward compartment.
The ship’s list facilitated his climb as he ascended to the control room. A flashlight startled him.
“Get that out of my face,” he said.
Seated on a tilted chair, Renard lowered the light.
“My apologies.”
Jake rubbed his eyes.
“Yeah, okay,” Jake said, “I can’t stay too mad at you. You made a ballsy call putting us on the roof.
“Scotty, you okay?”
The silhouette seated at the ship’s control panel ignored Jake. McKenzie’s hands trembled in the darkness as they caressed gauges and dials.
“He’s not taking it well,” Renard said.
“Neither am I, really. I’m not sure what to think. I thought we were home free.”
“Maintain your focus. We will work our way through this.”
“We just survived a hostile torpedo shot, and our reactor’s cooling to cold iron,” Jake said.
“Keep your wits about you. You have a crew to lead.”
“Where are all the frogmen?”
“In their racks, I pray. Otherwise they’re liable to hurt themselves in this abysmal darkness.”
“They’re big boys and we told them what not to touch,” Jake said. “I say we deal with them after we get this pig under control.”
“What of affairs aft?” Renard asked. “Ensuring reactor plant integrity is our primary concern. Without our reactor, we’re dead.”
“There’s a lot of lube oil spilling. Bass and Gant are trying to plug the leaks. It’s going to be messy, but we can contain them when we start up again.”
“And when, mon ami, do you forecast that might be? Freezing to death will not be pleasant.”
“If we start up now, we could get shot at again.”
“Agreed,” Renard said. “The noise would be an unacceptable risk. We will have to rely upon the battery.”
“If we drain it, we won’t have enough juice to get the plant started,” Jake said.
“Can’t we just pull control rods to heat up the reactor whenever we want?” McKenzie asked.
Jake hadn’t expected words from McKenzie. He studied the mechanic. Hollow eyes stared back at him.
“That won’t work,” Jake said. “It’s complex. You need coolant flow and coolant pumps. We need battery power to start up again.”
“What about natural circulation?” McKenzie asked.
“Only works if we can remove heat. We need the steam cycle going full swing to do that, and that means steam plant pumps.”
“I hear freezing to death is peaceful.” McKenzie said.
“We’re not going to… shut up!”
McKenzie turned back to his panel. His shaking hands fiddled with de-energized dials and gauges.
“We should consider bringing the sonar room back online, too,” Renard said. “We should determine if we’re alone yet.”
“Starting a motor-generator set is too noisy. We’re stuck without AC power.”
Renard drew a Marlboro from his crumpled pack.
“I suppose you’re correct,” Renard said.
“You should take that cigarette out of your mouth. We can’t filter the smoke anymore.”
“Ah, I’d forgotten.”
Renard stuck the cigarette back in its pack.
“I think we can insulate a few staterooms with blankets and make use of body heat,” Jake said. “We’ll secure space heaters throughout the ship except for a few staterooms.
“That could work, but not indefinitely.”
“It’ll work as long as it takes to be sure we’re alone,” Jake said. “A couple days. Maybe longer.”
“And what of daily necessities?”
“We’ll store canned food and potable water. Each room has a sink we can piss in. For garbage and shit, we’ll use freezer bags.”
“How I love submarine life,” Renard said.
“Scotty,” Jake said. “We need to achieve level deck. Can you flood the centerline tank without making noise?”
McKenzie placed his hands in his lap but said nothing.
“Scotty!” Jake said. “Flood the centerline tank until we slip down from the roof.”
McKenzie stood and looked at the floor.
“I’ve got to go operate the valve manually,” he said and lumbered down the stairs, leaving Jake with Renard.
“What do you think about our hunter?” Jake asked.
“Someone tried to kill us,” Renard said, “and may be close enough to shoot again if we so much as drop a spoon. It’s probably your friend from the Miami.”
“I have a sick feeling it’s Brody,” Jake said.
“Quite possible, but I’m afraid we may not have the time we need to wait in silence. There are six commandos onboard who feel a sense of urgency.”
“Then you’d better tell them that we’re going to spend a few days in the dark.”
The Chief of Naval Operations felt his guts twist as he entered the Oval Office. President Ryder looked up, and Mesher read tension in his face.
“I understand that we’ve lost contact with the Miami, Admiral? This better not be another submarine catastrophe.”
“We shouldn’t assume that the Miami is under duress. There’s no evidence. It’s probably still under the ice and unable to make radio transmission.”
“This country cannot tolerate another American submarine being lost at sea. You’d better be right.”
“Sir, I do have some concern with the nature of the Miami’s mission.”
“The nature?”
“One of my admirals assigned the Miami to follow its captain’s hunch that the Colorado was still alive and heading under the ice.”
“I thought we had proof that the Colorado sank? We have tapes from over a dozen sonar systems examined by an army of PhD’s. What the hell did they say?”
“The acoustic lab at Hopkins is working around the clock. It’s laborious work.”
“They must know something by now!”
“We know that the weapon that sank the Colorado was not an American torpedo,” Mesher said.
Ryder stood and paced.
“You’re telling me that a random assailant broke through our perimeter undetected, found one of the quietest submarines on the planet, sank it, and got away unnoticed?”
Mesher sensed the impending doom of a shameful end to an illustrious career.
“We won’t know until the lab dissects this further or until the underwater search team finds the wreckage on the bottom of the Atlantic.”
“You don’t seem to know much about your submarines, Admiral.”
“These are demanding tasks that require time.”
Ryder stood and stared out the window.
“I assume that you at least know where to find the door.”
Renard shut the door to the executive officer’s stateroom. He shivered under his parka.
“Merde de l’eau! It’s freezing out there.”
“I feel the draft,” McKenzie said.
Renard noted that McKenzie appeared to have regained his wits.
Layers of bedspreads muffled Renard’s steps as he passed through a polished metal bathroom into the commanding officer’s quarters.