Panic Switch полностью

“And no one even suspected I’d done that,” Styxx continued. “You thick-headed males all just assumed Pacino got the lipstick honestly. And no, Bullfrog, that does not give you permission to resurrect Pacino’s stupid nickname.”

It was then the SEAL officers walked in. Pacino felt relief that now the conversation might turn away from him.

“Well, what do you know? Our kick-ass commandos have decided to honor us with their presence,” Quinnivan said. “What, did you run out of triple-X rated movies? Everyone, if you haven’t met them, this is Commander ‘Tiny Tim’ Fishman and Lieutenant (j.g.) ‘Grip’ Aquatong. And speaking of nicknames, Commander Fishman’s actual first name is Ebenezer, so, you know. But what about you, Grip?” Quinnivan looked expectantly at Aquatong.

“My actual callsign is ‘Autoloader,’ except to these assholes I work with. You drop one lousy box of grenades, and suddenly—“ Aquatong smiled as he took an empty seat. “Anyway, we’re here because we heard there was hot food.”

“Load up before it’s gone,” Quinnivan said. “You guys know the old Vermont crew, but you may not know Engineer Kelly here or Weapons Officer Styxx. Say hello, people.”

Fishman looked over at Kelly and, for the first time in Pacino’s memory, smiled. He just said, “Machine. Gun. Kelly.”

Engineer Moose Kelly frowned at him. “I hated that nickname. And how did you know it?”

Fishman’s smile turned enigmatic. “I had intel, Machine Gun.”

Kelly rolled her eyes. “I have to tell you, I like my new name better. Call me Moose.”

Fishman raised an eyebrow. “I can’t imagine a woman as beautiful as you being called ‘Moose,’” he said. “You have a first name?”

Kelly blushed a dark crimson, concentrating on her chili, but she glanced over at Fishman for just a fraction of a second, then just mumbled, “Yeah, my first name is ‘Eng.’”

“You are without a doubt the most gorgeous chief engineer I’ve ever seen.”

Lewinsky laughed. “Hey, Tiny Tim. The last chief engineer you saw was me.”

Kelly’s blush got even deeper.

“Wow,” Quinnivan said. “I had no idea anyone could make our hard-boiled engineer blush.”

The phone handset under the table buzzed, and Quinnivan reached under and pulled it up to his ear. “Command Duty Officer,” he said, his voice instantly serious. He listened for a moment. “Very well.” He replaced the handset. “Well, people, looks like we’re finally seeing some action. The Omega is starting her engineroom.”

“XO,” Kelly said to Quinnivan, “request to restart our port side.”

Quinnivan nodded. “Engineer, you have permission to restart the port side of the engineroom, but get the officer of the deck’s order.”

“Aye, sir, by your leave, XO.” Kelly bolted from her chair and walked out of the room faster than Pacino had ever seen her move.

The phone under the table buzzed again and Quinnivan answered as before. “Junior Officer of the Deck,” he said, “restart the port side of the engineroom.” He looked at the officers as he hung up. “I’d advise you guys to get some sleep. The Omega will probably be shoving off in the coming hours. I want you all alert when he does.”

Back in stateroom three, Pacino took off his coveralls and hung them on his hook as River Styxx walked in and shut the door behind her.

“Sorry about the story, Patch,” she said.

Pacino shrugged, trying to act nonchalant. “I guess I should thank you, River,” he said.

She just looked at him, a kind expression on her face. “Next time,” she said gently, “don’t drink so much.”

“Good night, Weps,” he said as he climbed into his rack, hoping he wasn’t blushing as Kelly had.

“Well, I suppose this is farewell and bon voyage,” Admiral Gennady Zhigunov said to Captain First Rank Georgy Alexeyev. “Good luck out there.”

“Admiral, you’re absolutely sure you can’t send an attack sub to escort us out?” Alexeyev glanced out to the deep water of the fjord. It was very possible that a British or American sub, or even a French nuclear boat, could be lurking off the Kola Peninsula, lying in wait to trail them.

“You know the answer, Georgy. All the Yasen-Ms are in depot-level drydock maintenance for their atmospheric controls troubles. We already lost one submarine from the oxygen generator coming off its foundation just from the vibrations of running flank. And the fix is invasive. It’s requiring not one, but two hull cuts. And you know how long it takes to seal a hull cut. The weld quality checks alone take a month.”

“But Arkhangelsk is out of the drydock. Her atmo mods are complete. You could send her.”

Zhigunov shook his head. “Arkhangelsk still needs post-drydock sea trials with vibration monitors on all the piping and equipment. We can’t lose another sixty-billion-ruble submarine and a trained crew. And even if you forget the human and financial cost — we’d lose the time it takes to build a submarine, Georgy. So you see, yes?”

“An older boat, perhaps? A 971 Shchuka-B? The Gepard or Kuzbass? Or Vepr?”