Larry Bond - Dangerous Ground

Emily ran Huey through her test regimen. After fifteen minutes, the mechanical arm in tube one reached out and gently hauled the ROV back into tube three. The test had gone flawlessly, and Emily was clearly pleased. Foster and company pulled the vehicle from the tube and pushed it into the outboard stow of the lower centerline rack. After the restraining straps were in place and the vehicle secured, team two stepped up and prepared to do the whole thing all over again with Duey.

As team one departed, Jerry turned to follow them. He stopped momentarily, waved to Emily, and then called over to TM1 Moran, the senior man on team two. “Petty Officer Moran, I have to be in control for this test run. You’re in charge down here.”

Moran poked his head up from behind Duey, looked over to his division officer, and said, “Yes, sir.” He immediately went back to work preparing the ROV for loading, while Jerry made his way to control.

Jerry took the steps up the ladder to control from middle level two at a time. Tim Weyer was the Officer of the Deck and with him on the periscope stand were Hardy and Richards. He made his way over to the fire-control area and sat down at the third position, the closest one to Richards, who was manning the sound-powered phones. Bair suddenly popped out of the sonar shack and walked quickly over to the stand.

“Captain, that last sonar contact is classified as biologies. It sounds like a pod of humpback whales was just passing by, likely heading out toward deeper water.”

“Very well, XO,” growled Hardy, his tone reflected his annoyance. “Please schedule remedial training for sonar division, XO. We can’t afford to have improperly trained sonar techs getting spooked by whales once we are in area.”

“Yes, sir,” replied Bair flatly.

“As for the two of you,” snapped Hardy at Weyer and Richards, “I strongly suggest that you get your collective acts together and pay more attention to your people’s less-than-adequate proficiency. This error is 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.