Phoenix Sub Zero

Milo Nelson was the chief mechanic for Phoenix’s M-division, working for Lieutenant Houser and the engineer, who happened to be lying in a congealing puddle of his own blood in the maneuvering room waiting for the report from Nelson that the turbine generators were up and ready for loading. The torpedo blast had put Nelson down on the deck aft but had just shaken him up. Engineer Schramford some how had taken the hit hard, much harder than the enlisted man George Falsom, an electrician who was minding all three panels in the room. Falsom said that Schramford had been leaning around a panel, straining to see the progress of the engineroom crew, the torpedo coming closer, the captain on his case, when the blast hit, tripping him and knocking him into the side of the reactor-control panel. Somehow he had caught his head on a main coolant pump switch. The electrician Falsom had hit the deck, Schramford tumbling down on top of him after smacking his head on the pump switch.

Nelson had been standing watch as engineering-watch supervisor, the senior roving enlisted man in the aft watch section. As such, he could start the engineroom by himself.

In the dark. It hadn’t taken too long for him to determine that the RC was gone. He’d shut the steam bulkhead valves, stopping the seawater flooding down the steam headers.

He’d tried the phones to the forward compartment with no results.

In the maneuvering room he checked out the electric plant control panel, put the voltage selector to the battery, wondering if the wiring going forward had survived. He and Falsom held their breath as the voltage needle spun up to read 260 volts. At least they had indication.

“Want to try it, Falsom?”

“Why not. Chief?”

Falsom reached out and rotated the battery breaker knob.

He put the selector switch on the output of the breaker. It zipped 260 volts. It had worked. They had DC power aft.

“So far, so good. Bring up the lights,” Nelson said.

The lights flashed into fluorescence overhead, the patches of light from the battle lanterns no longer needed.

“Think they came on up forward?”

“Who knows?”

“I’m gonna try the EPM and see if I can spin the shaft. If I can, we just might be able to get out of here.”

“Assuming there’s somebody awake up front.”

“Big assumption. I’ll be back …”

When the lights came on in the forward compartment, Kane allowed a wide grin.

“Hey, XO, Tommy Schramford has the stick. Now we just need to be able to talk to him.” XO Mcdonne said nothing, sweat pouring down his forehead in the frigid cold of the room.

The lower hatch of the Seawolfs escape trunk opened, admitting eight men. The last in accepted the bundle of Steinke hoods from Hobart and shut the hatch. Pacino shivered as he thought about what was going on overhead, the trunk flooding with the frozen water, the men filling their hoods with compressed air, opening the upper hatch and swimming out into water a quarter-mile deep. Just before the last man went out he would signal Hobart, who would wait thirty seconds and shut the outer hatch with hydraulics. Then the whole process would start again. The second batch of eight men climbed the ladder to the trunk. More hoods. The hatch shut.

Pacino wandered to the starboard side of the ship, to the signal ejector. He found the locker where he had stowed the four slot buoys and pulled out the one marked No. 4. There was no way to operate the signal ejector now, Pacino thought. There were no seawater systems with pumps pressurizing them to flush the buoy out of the tube. Someone would have to take it out the escape trunk with them. He returned to the base of the trunk, where the third batch of men were climbing the ladder. Henry Vale was the officer to go with this batch.

“See you on top. Captain,” Vale said.

“Good luck, Nav,” Pacino said, turning the slot buoy upside down and turning its transmitter on. He handed the buoy to Vale. “Take this up for me. Henry. It’s a distress signal.” “You had that preloaded, sir?” Vale asked, not sure what to make of it.

“Yes, Nav,” Pacino said quietly. “Just in case. Now go on and I’ll see you in a few.”

“Hope there’s water up there, not ice.” Vale crossed his fingers and looked around one last time. “Goodbye, Seawolf.” He disappeared up the ladder.

Milo Nelson stood at the EPM. “I’ll be damned,” he mumbled to himself.

“It works. Be a damned shame if there’s nobody in the front seat.”

Up forward, Sanderson stepped into the control room, his hair sweat-soaked though the temperature had sunk to the thirties.

“Captain, let’s try the UWT. We’ll either burn it to hell or it’ll work.”

Kane picked up the microphone and waited while Sanderson flipped a toggle switch and adjusted the controls.

Sanderson nodded, turning down the volume. Kane spoke into the mike.

“AFT COMPARTMENT, AFT COMPARTMENT, THIS IS THE CAPTAIN. ENGINEER, THIS IS THE CAPTAIN. IF YOU CAN HEAR THIS, GET SOMETHING HEAVY AND TAP ON THE HULL TWICE.”