inexcusable. Am I clear, gentlemen?”
Wincing at the Captain’s criticism, Weyer and Richards uttered their barely audible responses. Jerry found himself wishing that he could just slink back down to the torpedo room.
After sitting for half an hour, Jerry found himself fidgeting. What was taking Moran so long? They should have requested permission to launch by now. Hardy was pacing around the periscope stand and was obviously on a slow boil. Jerry feared he would lose his patience any moment now. Fortunately, he overheard Richards as he spoke into the sound-powered phones, “Request permission to flood tube three, equalize to sea pressure, and open the outer door, aye, wait. OOD, the torpedo room reports they are ready to launch the ROV and request permission to flood tube three, equalize to sea pressure, and open the outer door.”
Weyer looked at Hardy, who nodded curtly. Turning to Richards, he said, “Permission granted.”
Down in the torpedo room, Moran was sweating. It had taken longer than he had expected to get the ROV into the tube. He was sure that the CO was pissed as hell, and he was sure he’d hear about it later. But at least his team had managed to load the vehicle without breaking anything. Now they could relax a little bit and wait for Marcie to finish her test run before they had to bust their butts again. He had just settled down with a cup of coffee when TM2 Greer called him. “Hey, Curt, come over here and look at this, will you?” Sighing, Moran put his cup in one of the holders and walked over to the starboard tube nest.
“What’s the problem, Joe?”
“Take a look at the fiber-optic cable penetration in the breech door. I think the leak is getting worse.”
Moran took the flashlight and examined the penetration fitting. Sure enough, the water was seeping out in a small but steady stream. It definitely was worse than during the first trials. “Did the Senior Chief say anything about this during the first test run?”
“I didn’t talk to Foster at all, but Boyd told me that they thought it had gotten better. Do you think we should inform control?” Greer asked, clearly concerned.
“Are you kidding?” replied Moran forcefully. “The CO is already pissed at us for taking so long to the load the damn ROV and you know how he takes false alarms. I’ll call the Senior Chief and he can come and take a look at it.”
Moran walked over to the Dialex, picked up the receiver, and dialed the chiefs’ quarters. “Hey Master Chief, it’s Moran. Is Senior Chief Foster there? Could I speak with him, please?” As he waited for Foster to come to the phone, Moran walked around in small, agitated circles.
“Hey, Senior Chief, Moran here. Did you guys notice if that leak from the cable penetration was worse during your run? What? No, no, it’s a steady stream now. No, it’s definitely beyond a slow drip. Could you come down here and take a look? Yeah, okay, thanks.”
It wasn’t even a minute before Foster burst into the torpedo room. “All right, Moran, let’s look at the stupid fitting.” It took only a casual inspection for Foster to see that the leak was a lot worse. Foster carefully grasped the fiber-optic cable between his fingers and gently moved it around to see if he could determine exactly which part of the fitting was leaking. As he moved the cable, more water spurted out — and with greater force.
“Hey! Petty Officer Moran, what are you guys doing over there?” shouted Davis. “I’m getting a lot of interference, and…” Emily stopped in midsentence as the cable continuity alarm flashed on her screen. She was no longer connected to the ROV outside. “I’ve lost Duey!” she shouted.
Over by tube three, Foster and Moran heard a sharp snapping noise. A split-second later, a high-velocity spray of water shot out from the fitting. The spray hit the centerline storage rack and ricocheted toward the weapons launching console. Part of the deflected water hit Moran in the chest with enough force to knock him into the starboard tube nest. He fell to the deck, momentarily stunned. A shocked Foster jumped back and hit the starboard storage rack.
Greer, Lee, and Emily all stared at the geyser of water pouring into the torpedo room. At a depth of two hundred feet, the pressure blasted seawater through the pinky-finger-sized hole like a fire hose on steroids. The roar was deafening.
Dazed, Foster stood up and grabbed for the Collision Alarm. The screech of the alarm reverberated throughout the boat. Shaking his head, he yelled over to Greer. “Greer, close the muzzle door!”
Hesitant at first, Greer crawled over to the weapons launching console and pushed the button to close the muzzle door on tube three. Nothing happened. He tried again and again, still nothing. The console wasn’t working. Shivering as the ice-cold seawater sprayed all over him, he turned toward Foster and shouted, “It doesn’t work!”
“Close it manually,” Foster screamed as he made a repetitive lever-like motion with his arm. Nodding, Greer looked in the overhead for the tube three muzzle door lever. With all that sea spray, it was hard to see anything. Still, after a few more seconds he found the lever and pulled it into the closed position. As Greer lowered his arm and looked back toward Foster, there was a bright flash.
Up in control, Jerry heard a dull roar coming from below, like the sound of high-pressure air being released. Without even asking for permission to leave, he got up and started heading for the torpedo room. When the Collision Alarm sounded, he bolted down the ladder. The XO was right behind him. As they were halfway down the second ladder to the lower level, the IMC blared: FIRE IN THE TORPEDO ROOM!
Down in the twenty-one-man bunkroom, Jerry grabbed two EABs and tossed one to the XO. As they donned their masks, the crewmen from the berthing area were filing out and putting on their masks as well. Bair ordered them to start forming a fire-fighting team.
Plugging in his mask, Jerry turned to Bair, who motioned for him to go in. Jerry opened the door. It looked more like a steel foundry than a torpedo room. Flames and sparks were leaping around from the forward part of the room. Silhouetted by the fire, he saw Foster coming toward him, carrying an injured man. It flashed into his mind that Emily Davis had only a few minutes of damage control practice.
After taking a deep breath, Jerry unplugged his EAB, and moved as quickly as he could to the ROV control area. Bair helped Foster with the injured crewman. Smoke was rapidly filling the room, making it hard for Jerry to see where he was going. Feeling his way along the bulkhead, he found Emily huddled behind the control console. She was still tightening the straps on her EAB mask when he reached her. Grabbing her head with both of his hands, he put their two facemasks together. She looked terrified, but there was no time for comforting words. She needed to get out of here — now! Jerry yelled as loud as he could through his mask, “EMILY, YOU NEED TO LEAVE. FOLLOW THE BULKHEAD TO THE DOOR!” Without waiting for her reply, Jerry jerked her to her feet and placed her right hand on the bulkhead. He then grabbed her left hand and put it on her EAB connection. “ON THREE, YOU PULL THE PLUG AND GO! ONE!. TWO!. THREE!” Even though her hands were shaking badly, she managed to unplug her connection and started walking along the bulkhead.
More sparks popped out from the flames, but this time the lights blinked as well. An electrical fire! Jerry moved as fast as he could over to the power distribution panel. He swung the panel door open and started opening the breakers inside. Since he didn’t know exactly what was on fire, he opened all of them in the hope that it would cut out the equipment that was burning. As he stood there, he felt the boat developing an up angle; they were coming shallow. Soon they would be at a depth where they could emergency-ventilate the torpedo room and get rid of the smoke.
Jerry considered grabbing a fire extinguisher and heading toward the fire. But he realized that it was more important for him to report to the XO that he thought they had an electrical fire on their hands, and that he had already opened the breakers. Once again, Jerry took a couple of deep breaths, unplugged his EAB, and started making his way back toward the berthing area. When he reached the ROV control consoles, he stopped to plug into the emergency air supply nearby. As he was feeling around for the EAB manifold, he bumped into somebody — it was Senior Chief Foster. Once Foster realized who it was, he tried to go around Jerry but Jerry held him back. “OUT OF MY WAY! I DON’T HAVE TIME FOR YOU,” snarled Foster. “WE HAVE AN ELECTRICAL FIRE. I HAVE TO. ”
“I ALREADY TOOK CARE OF THE BREAKERS, SENIOR CHIEF,” shouted Jerry angrily as Foster pushed against him.
“WHAT?” Foster seemed shocked by Jerry’s report.
“I SAID, I ALREADY OPENED ALL THE BREAKERS ON THE P-PANEL. I’M GOING TO INFORM THE XO.” Feeling a tad smug, Jerry unplugged himself and continued his search for Bair. Foster just stood there, dumbfounded.
He found the XO right where he expected him to be, leading the fire-fighting team. They were all crouched down, advancing slowly toward the forward part of the torpedo room, under the cover of a low-velocity water fog to
