Алистер Маклин - Ice Station Zebra

‘Yes, yes,’ Jolly nodded. ‘But this no smoking, no moving–’

‘That same very small battery, I’m afraid, is the only source left to us for power for the air-purifying machines, for lighting, ventilation, heating – I’m afraid the Dolphin is going to get very cold in a short time – so we have to curtail its expenditure of energy on those things. So no smoking, minimum movement – the less carbon dioxide breathed into the atmosphere the better. But the real reason for conserving electric energy is that we need it to power the heaters, pumps and motors that have to be used to start up the reactor again. If that battery exhausts itself before we get the reactor going – well, I don’t have to draw a diagram.’

‘You’re not very encouraging, are you, Commander?’ Jolly complained.

‘No, not very. I don’t see any reason to be,’ Swanson said dryly.

‘I’ll bet you’d trade in your pension for a nice open lead above us just now,’ I said.

‘I’d trade in the pension of every flag officer in the United States Navy,’ he said matter-of-factly. ‘If we could find a polynya I’d surface, open the engine-room hatch to let most of the contaminated air escape, start up our diesel – it takes its air direct from the engine-room – and have the rest of the smoke sucked out in nothing flat. As it is, that diesel is about as much use to me as a grand piano.’

‘And the compasses?’ I asked.

‘That’s another interesting thought,’ Swanson agreed. ‘If the power output from our reserve battery falls below a certain level, our three Sperry gyro-compass systems and the N6A – that’s the inertial guidance machine – just pack up. After that we’re lost, completely. Our magnetic compass is quite useless in these latitudes – it just walks in circles.’

‘So we would go around and around in circles, too,’ Jolly said thoughtfully. ‘For ever and ever under the jolly old ice-cap, what? By jove. Commander, I’m really beginning to wish we’d stayed up at Zebra.’

‘We’re not dead yet, Doctor . . . Yes, John?’ This to Hansen, who had just come up.

‘Sanders, sir. On the ice-machine. Can he have a smoke mask? His eyes are watering pretty badly.’

‘Give him anything you like in the ship,’ Swanson said, ‘just so long as he can keep his eyes clear to read that graph. And double the watch on the ice-machine. If there’s a lead up there only the size of a hair, I’m going for it. Immediate report if the ice thickness falls below, say, eight or nine feet.’

‘Torpedoes?’ Hansen asked. ‘There hasn’t been ice thin enough for that in three hours. And at the speed we’re drifting there won’t be for three months. I’ll go keep the watch myself. I’m not much good for anything else, this hand of mine being the way it is.’

‘Thank you. First you might tell Engineman Harrison to turn off the CO 2scrubber and monoxide burners. Must save every amp of power we have. Besides, it will do this pampered bunch of ours the world of good to sample a little of what the old-time submariners had to experience when they were forced to stay below maybe twenty hours at a time.’

‘That’s going to be pretty rough on our really sick men,’ I said. ‘Benson and Folsom in the sickbay, the Harrington twins, Brownell and Bolton in the nucleonics lab., right aft. They’ve got enough to contend with without foul air as well.’

‘I know,’ Swanson admitted. ‘I’m damnably sorry about it. Later on, when – and if – the air gets really bad, we’ll start up the air-purifying systems again but blank off every place except the lab and sick-bay.’ He broke off and turned round as a fresh wave of dark smoke rolled in from the suddenly opened after door. The man with the smoke mask was back from the engine-room and even with my eyes streaming in that smoke-filled acrid atmosphere I could see he was in a pretty bad way. Swanson and two others rushed to meet him, two of them catching him as he staggered into the control room, the third quickly swinging the heavy door shut against the darkly-evil clouds of smoke.

Swanson pulled off the man’s smoke mask. It was Murphy, the man who had accompanied me when we’d closed the torpedo tube door. People like Murphy and Rawlings, I thought, always got picked for jobs like this.

His face was white and he was gasping for air, his eyes upturned in his head. He was hardly more than half-conscious, but even that foul atmosphere in the control centre must have seemed to him like the purest mountain air compared to what he had just been breathing for within thirty seconds his head had begun to clear and he was able to grin up painfully from where he’d been lowered into a chair.

‘Sorry, Captain,’ he gasped. ‘This smoke mask was never meant to cope with the stuff that’s in the engine-room. Pretty hellish in there, I tell you.’ He grinned again. ‘Good news, Captain. No radiation leak.’

‘Where’s the Geiger counter?’ Swanson asked quietly.

‘It’s had it, I’m afraid, sir. I couldn’t see where I was going in there, honest, sir, you can’t see three inches in front of your face. I tripped and damn’ near fell down into the machinery space. The counter did fall down. But I’d a clear check before then. Nothing at all.’ He reached up to his shoulder and unclipped his film badge. This’ll show, sir.’

‘Have that developed immediately. That was very well done, Murphy,’ he said warmly. ‘Now nip for’ard to the mess room. You’ll find some really clear air there.’

The film badge was developed and brought back in minutes. Swanson took it, glanced at it briefly, smiled and let out his breath in a long slow whistle of relief. ‘Murphy was right. No radiation leak. Thank God for that, anyway. If there had been – well, that was that, I’m afraid.’

The for’ard door of the control room opened, a man passed through, and the door was as quickly closed. I guessed who it was before I could see him properly.

‘Permission from Chief Torpedoman Patterson to approach you, sir,’ Rawlings said with brisk formality. ‘We’ve just seen Murphy, pretty groggy he is, and both the Chief and I think that youngsters like that shouldn’t be–’

‘Am I to understand that you are volunteering to go next, Rawlings?’ Swanson asked. The screws of responsibility and tension were turned hard down on him, but I could see that it cost him some effort to keep his face straight.

‘Well, not exactly volunteering, sir. But – well, who else is there?’

‘The torpedo department aboard this ship,’ Swanson observed acidly, ‘always did have a phenomenally high opinion of itself.’

‘Let him try an underwater oxygen set,’ I said. ‘Those smoke masks seem to have their limitations.’

‘A steam leak, Captain?’ Rawlings asked. ‘That what you want me to check on?’

‘Well, you seemed to have been nominated, voted for and elected by yourself,’ Swanson said. ‘Yes, a steam leak.’

‘That the suit Murphy was wearing?’ Rawlings pointed to the clothes on the desk.

‘Yes. Why?’

‘You’d have thought there would be some signs of moisture or condensation if there had been a steam leak, sir.’

‘Maybe. Maybe soot and smoke particles are holding the condensing steam in suspension. Maybe it was hot enough in there to dry off any moisture that did reach his suit. Maybe a lot of things. Don’t stay too long in there.’

‘Just as long as it takes me to get things fixed up,’ Rawlings said confidently. He turned to Hansen and grinned. ‘You baulked me once back out there on the ice-cap, Lieutenant, but sure as little apples I’m going to get that little old medal this time. Bring undying credit on the whole ship, I will.’

‘If Torpedoman Rawlings will ease up with his ravings for a moment,’ Hansen said, ‘I have a suggestion to make, Captain. I know he won’t be able to take off his mask inside there but if he would give a call-up signal on the engine telephone or ring through on the engine answering telegraph every four or five minutes we’d know he was O.K. If he doesn’t, someone can go in after him.’