The captain stood up. “All right, then. I’ll run through this with the COs of
But unless one of them thinks of something that we missed entirely, this is the plan we run with.”
CHAPTER 37
Auxiliary Machinery Room #3 was a labyrinth of piping, pumps, relay panels, and electrical junction boxes. The compartment was home to several critical engineering systems, including high- and low-pressure air compressors, the fresh-water distillers of the potable water system, and #4 and #5 fire pumps. But through the center of the maze ran the most important piece of equipment in the compartment: the propeller shaft, known to the engineering crew who maintained it as simply
Over two feet in diameter, the huge steel shaft performed much the same function as the drive shaft on a car, only instead of carrying power from the transmission to the rear axle, this shaft carried power from the ship’s main reduction gears to the screw that drove the ship through the water.
Gas Turbine System Technician — Mechanical Third Class Michael Carpenter laid his hand against the housing for the line shaft bearing that supported the shaft. He could feel the throbbing vibration of the huge propeller, right through the thick steel housing of the bearing’s oil sump.
Of all the spaces on the ship,
Standing in the bilge next to the line shaft bearing, with only about a half-inch of steel hull plating between his feet and the ocean, Carpenter could feel the hiss and rumble of the water as it passed under the hull. Just a few yards aft of where he was standing, the tremendous bronze screw churned the water into froth as it drove the ship forward.
The sample valve was located on the bottom of the oil sump. Carpenter unclipped the locking arm from the hand wheel of the sample valve and pulled a glass sample bottle from the left hip pocket of his coveralls. As Engineering Messenger of the Watch, part of his job was to take regular oil samples from key pieces of engineering equipment. The oil lab, which operated twenty-four hours a day, would test the samples for seawater, metal filings, dirt, or other contamination that could degrade the lubricating property of the oil. Carpenter opened the valve a crack and waited as the dark amber liquid began to ooze into his sample bottle. Hot oil-scented air surged up from the open valve, the signature aroma of heavy machinery at work.
Something flew past his head and ricocheted off the bearing housing. It startled him, and he jerked away involuntarily. The object fell into the bilge. It was a balled up piece of paper.
Carpenter turned in time to dodge a second paper projectile that was also aimed at his head. Standing a few feet away was Seaman Wayne Harris, a general wise-ass and Carpenter’s best friend.
Harris grinned, showing his mulish front teeth. “Hey shit-for-brains, let’s go up to the starboard break and smoke a ciggy-butt.” His voice was loud. It had to be to carry over the sounds of the machinery.
“I’ve got to get this oil sample up to the lab,” Carpenter said.
“So get a move on,” Harris said. “We can swing by the lab on the way up.”
Carpenter checked the oil level in the sample bottle out of the corner of his eye, not willing to turn his back entirely on Harris, who was a bit of a prankster. The bottle was about two-thirds full. “What’s the rush?”
“Your Hot-a-malan girlfriend is up there taking a smoke break. She usually likes to smoke two, so she doesn’t feel like she wasted the trip. If we hurry, we can catch her.”
Gitana Delgado was Guatemalan, not
It struck Carpenter for about the thousandth time how lucky Harris was that Gitana Delgado didn’t take his nickname for her personally. With a word or two in the right direction, she could have nailed him for sexual harassment, or maybe even racial discrimination. The Navy didn’t play games with either one of those subjects. If you had opinions on someone’s gender or ethnic background, you had damned well better keep them to yourself. Gitana could get Harris into serious trouble if she wanted to.
Carpenter smiled. For that matter, she could probably kick Harris’s ass.
Gitana spent a lot of time in the gym, and everybody knew that Harris’s most developed muscle was his mouth.
Carpenter looked around suddenly, as he felt the hot oil flow over his fingers. Damn. He had overfilled the bottle. He shut the valve quickly and tried to get the lid on the sample bottle without spilling any more than he had to. As soon as the lid was on tight, he pulled a rag from his back pocket and wiped the bottle down. He slid the bottle into his hip pocket and surveyed the mess. He hadn’t spilled much. Just a few ounces.
Nothing major.
He flipped down the locking arm and pinned the sample valve in the locked position. That done, he knelt down and used his rag to mop up the tiny puddle of oil in the bilge. There. No harm done.
He looked up at Harris. “All right, I’m done. We have to make a quick stop by the lab, and I have to tell the Engineer of the Watch that I’m taking a quick smoke break.”
“Stop dragging ass,” Harris said. “My lungs are overdosing on oxygen.”
Carpenter bumped into Harris on purpose as he walked toward the ladder. “Sorry. Excuse me. Pardon me. Coming through.”
Harris followed him. “Shithead!” A few seconds later, the watertight door closed behind him with a bang.
Down in the bilge beneath the line shaft bearing, a fresh spot of oil appeared on the steel deck. After a second or two, it was joined by another one. And then another. The sample valve on the bottom of the oil sump was locked in its current position. It was nearly closed, but the disk was not completely sealed against the seat. The drip became a trickle.
CHAPTER 38
Chief McPherson swirled the last bit of coffee around the bottom of her cup and glared at the dark liquid with accusatory eyes. She knew the coffee was cold, and she could see the grounds in it. She thought for a second about getting a fresh cup, but she would be going off watch in about a half hour, and she didn’t want the caffeine kicking in just when she was trying to catch a few winks. Not that she’d sleep for long anyway.
She’d be back in CIC in an hour or two. She was having a hard time staying away, even when she wasn’t on watch. In fact, she probably wouldn’t hit her rack at all. Maybe she’d just catch a catnap in a chair at one of the unused consoles.
She was very careful not to actually do the math in her head. Because, when she did, she’d have to admit to herself that she had been awake for two days and counting. The logical part of her mind knew that dedication and
