The two hull technicians in the team punched the automated opener, and after getting no response hauled out tools, placed them in the manual opening slots, then pulled hard. The hatch resisted for a moment, then blew open so fast one of the hull techs barely avoided getting smashed. The hatch slammed back against the bulkhead, its interior surface a pitted, smoking ruin, then the entire Damage Control team staggered as a firestorm of heat and smoke fountained out through the hatch opening. Paul caught himself, leaning into the eruption and watching the tell tales on his face plate blink rapid warnings. If we hadn't been suited up when that hit, we'd have been fried instantly.
Both hoses lit off, hurling out a high velocity mist of fine droplets of water against the heat and smoke. Water mist flashed to steam, stealing heat from the fire, and beat back the smoke. 'Fuel shouldn't be making that kinda smoke!' one of the hull techs shouted.
Paul watched the black and gray mass, then shook his head. 'It's not the fuel making that. It's everything else in that compartment burning.' Insulation, computers, wiring, plastic, and maybe at least one human. 'And don't yell on the circuit.'
'Aye, aye, sir.'
'Advance when you're ready, Santiago.'
'Advance when ready, aye, sir.' Santiago began duck-walking forward, staying low beneath the hottest air and moving the nozzle in a tight circular pattern that opened a hole in the inferno for her advance. The back-up hose paused while Santiago cleared the hatch, then followed, its spray covering and cooling Santiago as well as beating back the fire and smoke. Paul waited until about half the damage control team had entered, then pushed in himself.
His vision vanished so suddenly Paul almost panicked. Then he spotted the tell tales still glowing on his face plate and realized he hadn't gone blind, but that the smoke was so dense it had cut off sight completely. Paul's arms flailed out in search of contact with some surface, one hand brushing against something which he grabbed onto like a liferaft.
'Who the hell — ? Oh, Mr. Sinclair. Just a sec.' A hand grasped his wrist just above where Paul's own hand was locked onto someone's shoulder, then guided Paul's hand to a taunt, rounded surface he recognized as one of the hoses. 'You okay, now, sir?'
'Yeah. Thanks.' Control your breathing. Don't hyperventilate. Don't let the team hear you sounding scared. Paul became aware the hose wasn't moving. Peering ahead, he thought he could vaguely make out swirls in the smoke that must mark the fog nozzles at work, spraying a so-far futile barrage against the firestorm. Okay. Think. Remember your damage control training. When fighting a fire, aim at the base of the flames, not the flames themselves. If we can get to where the fuel's coming in, we can cool it there and stop the fire at its source. 'DC Central, this is Lieutenant Sinclair. We've got zero visibility in here. And I mean zero. We need guidance to the likely source of the fuel leak.'
'Roger, sir. Providing virtual guidance now.'
Glowing lines sprang to life on his faceplate, outlining the equipment, catwalks and bulkheads Paul would have been able to see if not for the smoke. He turned his head, watching the lines shift to show another part of the compartment. It resembled nothing so much as a first-person perspective video game, though the graphics were far more primitive and the stakes much higher than in any game Paul had ever played. 'Santiago. Everybody else. Have you got the virtual guidance?' A chorus of affirmative replies followed. 'That arrow should point toward the location where the fuel leak is coming in. Head that way.'
'Aye, sir.' The hose began moving slowly and jerkily under Paul's hand, and he followed along, crouching low against the heat. The virtual guidance showed they were traversing a catwalk along the upper portion of the compartment.
'Damn!' The hose jerked, then steadied.
'Santiago! You okay?'
'Yessir. So far. The damned catwalk's half blown away up here. I almost dropped through. I can make it along the bulkhead, though. I think.'
'Roger. Be careful. Hose team, hold tight so that if Santiago drops we can pull her back.' Paul scowled at the virtual guidance, which showed an intact catwalk running all the way along the bulkhead. No, wait. Of course it shows an intact catwalk. 'Everybody, this guidance only shows what things looked like before the explosion and fire. They don't know what kind of damage might have happened, so it's not reflected on the guidance. Step carefully.'
'Now you tell us,' somebody muttered.
Paul found himself suddenly grinning widely at the gibe as he inched along through blinding black clouds of smoke shot through with gray swirls, feeling ahead with one hand while the other rested on the hose. He knew the smile was too wide, too tight to be natural. Waves of heat surged against him, so that even through the suit's protection he felt the warmth. A fine mist of what might be fuel droplets lay across his face plate for a moment, then flashed away in another burst of heat. An indicator on his face shield blinked urgently, warning of estimated time remaining until the suit systems failed under the stress of the heat. God, I'm scared.
'I'm across,' Santiago reported. 'Come one at a time. I don't trust what's left of that catwalk.'
Paul checked the time, shocked to see only minutes had elapsed since they'd entered Forward Engineering. 'Santiago, are you still in the lead?'
'Yes, sir.'
'Do you see any sign of the leak?'
'No, si — Son of a bitch!'
'Santiago! What happened?'
'I found that leak, sir. Jesus. It's like a torch. Burned me through the suit.'
Paul felt a chill at odds with the inferno around them. 'It penetrated your suit?' He began trying to plan how to get Santiago out of the compartment as quickly as possible in zero visibility across a damaged catwalk with a fire raging, before the hole in her suit allowed the toxic fuel, smoke and heat to kill her.
'No, sir. It did not. I think my arm's kinda boiled.'
Paul exhaled heavily, not aware until then that he'd been holding his breath. 'Can you still use it?'
'Yes, sir. I'm aiming my fog at the base of the leak. Okay?'
'Exactly right. Make sure the other hose keeps you cool.'
'Yes, sir.'
'Lieutenant Sinclair? This is Chief Imari. We've got damage control parties sent from the Midway and the Belleau Wood standing by to assist. Should I send them down to you?'
Paul looked around, as if he could judge the situation visually, then raised his hand in an instinctive and futile gesture to wipe sweat from his brow. 'No. I don't know how we'd get them in here without sacrificing another compartment to the smoke and heat, and I don't know how'd we employ them in here. I can only get one or two people right up at the leak that's feeding the fire.'
'Could they come at it from another angle, sir?'
Good question, but Paul dismissed it almost instantly. 'I don't know, so I wouldn't recommend trying. There's damage in here. This catwalk we're on is half-gone. I have no idea what things are like on the other side of the leak.'
'Understood. No assistance to be sent in at this time. With your permission, I'll send the Midway team down to begin rigging a temporary airlock outside the compartment you entered Forward Engineering from, and hold the Belleau Wood people in reserve.'
Of course. They'd need to get out once all this was over. Or before it was over, if things went really bad. 'Thanks, Chief. That's a great idea.' Paul began inching forward again, running one hand over the hose, then over a sailor.
'Who's that?'
'Lieutenant Sinclair.'
'Oh. The damaged part's right ahead, sir. Stay close to the bulkhead.'
'Thanks.' Paul edged as close to the bulkhead as he could, watching the tell-tales on his suit display warning of the heat radiating from that surface. He stepped slowly and carefully, feeling the catwalk quivering under his feet. It sagged alarmingly under his weight at one point, leaving him wishing he was as light as Petty Officer Santiago, but on the next step the catwalk felt firmer. A few feet further on, and Paul's exploring hand
