Panic Switch полностью

Chernobrovin was silent for a long, frightening moment, but then came on, “Pilot, the reactor is back online. You have full propulsion. I am restarting atmo controls.”

“About time,” Trusov said under her breath. Her panel had come back to life. She rotated through the displays, examining ship systems’ status, then putting up the navigation display. She needed to get the boat to open water.

“Pilot, Engineer,” Chernobrovin said as Trusov was flying the boat southward to the entrance to the box-shaped area where Belgorod had fired its torpedoes at the American.

“Go ahead,” Trusov said.

“Be advised,” Chernobrovin said, his voice heavy, “we are severely nuclear fuel-limited.”

“I know,” Trusov said. Losharik had been overdue for a core refueling, but it had been postponed until after this operation. The mission profile had called for it to use minimal power to withdraw the Status-6 torpedoes from Belgorod and place them in the harbor bottoms, so it was judged that they could accomplish the mission with less than a hundred EFPH, or effective full-power hours, which was Sevmash’s estimate of the useable fuel level remaining in the core. “We need to find out what’s going on with Belgorod, then make our way to open water,” she said. “If the second-fired Gigantskiy blew up prematurely, there will be a close polynya in the box-shaped area.”

“Incoming message on Bolshoi-Feniks,” the Second Captain announced in that emotionless female computerized voice everyone hated.

“Read the message,” Trusov said, concentrating on the nav display and on power level to the propulsor. At 150 meters depth, she should avoid the bottom and pressure ridges. The side-scan sonar was no substitute for the under-ice sonar systems of submarines like Belgorod, but it was functional enough to get them through this ice maze back to open water.

“Message reads, ‘Belgorod damaged beyond repair and Belgorod crew requests immediate rescue from upper hatch of the escape chamber. Losharik requested to respond.’ The message is repeated over and over. Do you want me to read it again?”

“No,” Trusov said. “Prepare an outgoing message on Bolshoi-Feniks to Belgorod,” she said.

“Ready,” the Second Captain said.

“Losharik en route to Belgorod’s position. Stand by for rescue.”

“Bolshoi-Feniks fault,” the Second Captain said.

“What do you mean?” Trusov asked. “Specify.”

“Bolshoi-Feniks is not transmitting,” the Second Captain said.

“Are any circuit breakers open in the system?” Trusov asked. If the damned Second Captain were on its game, it would already have reported on the status of the system’s circuit breakers.

“All breakers are nominal,” the Second Captain said, maddeningly emotionless. “All Bolshoi-Feniks system self-checks nominal.”

“Well, obviously not,” Trusov said, “or else the fucking system would work.” But it was futile arguing with AI, she thought. She trained the side scan sonar to the right, then the left, then forward, seeking the hull of the Belgorod.

“Well, Mr. Pacino,” Captain Seagraves said, a bloody bandage on his head, “Good of you to join us. Where have you been?”

“Starting the reactor,” Pacino said.

“Who helped?” Vevera asked.

“Chief MacHinery.”

“You mean the chief started the reactor and steam plants and you watched?” Vevera said, standing near his firecontrol watch station.

“I guess you didn’t hear about what young Patch did at nuclear prototype,” Dankleff said.

“What?”

Dankleff grinned. “The entire place put down hundred-dollar bets young Pacino couldn’t start the reactor and steam plants all by himself. Then he actually did it. Then, no one believed he really succeeded, they all wanted him to do it again, double-or-nothing. So he did. Those hundred-dollar bets? They paid for his new crate engine for the Corvette, the supercharger, the transmission, and the new computer controls, with something left over for tires, since his new engine tended to shred them after a few months.”

“Dear Heavenly Father, was Naval Reactors aware of this?” Vevera said. Short Hull Cooper was staring with his eyes wide. Naval Reactors was the Navy’s version of the Nuclear Regulatory Agency, and more than one career had been torpedoed by the safety Nazis.

“Not in real time,” Pacino said, “but they heard about it eventually. I took a slap on the wrist, but the commander of prototype got a severe talking-to.”

“So we’re in the power range,” Quinnivan said, grinning.

“Half-power lineup on the port turbine generator,” Pacino said, “but there’s trouble with the starboard motor-generator. And we have bigger problems.”

“What?” Dankleff asked.

“Chief MacHinery thinks we’re flooding from the shaft seals,” Pacino said. “If that’s true, the aft compartment is going to flood, get heavy and drag us to the bottom. We need to dewater with the drain pump, and we need to do it now.”