Sea of Shadows eBook - Navy Thriller.com

262 JEFF EDWARDS
Walking the shaft was an engineering term for visually inspecting every
inch of the ninety-four-and-a-half–foot propeller shaft—from the Main
Engine Room, where it coupled with the output side of the main reduction
gears—to Shaft Alley, where it passed through the watertight seals of the
stuffing box and out through the bottom of the hull into the ocean. With
luck, the Messenger’s inspection would turn up something simple, like a
broken pipe or a shifted bracket rubbing against the shaft.
On Sebring’s first ship, a mop bucket had gotten loose during a highspeed
turn and had somehow managed to wedge itself under the shaft. The
metal sides of the bucket had formed a natural resonating chamber,
amplifying the vibrations of the spinning shaft until it sounded like the
mating cry of a brontosaurus.
The memory brought a flicker of a smile to Sebring’s lips, but any trace
of humor was driven instantly from his mind by the angry buzzing of an
alarm on the Damage Control Console.
A half-second later, the DC Console Watch shouted, “Smoke alarm in
AMR #3!”
Sebring switched back to the bridge circuit and keyed his mike.
“Bridge—CCS. We’ve got a smoke alarm in Auxiliary Machinery Room
#3. Report to follow.”
“CCS—Bridge. Copy your smoke alarm in AMR #3. Call it away.”
Sebring grabbed the flexible microphone stalk for the general
announcing circuit and swung it down near his face. There was a brass
bell bolted to the bulkhead to the right of his console. He grabbed the
lanyard, pressed the microphone button, and rang the bell rapidly eight
times, paused for a couple of seconds and then gave three distinct rings of
the bell to indicate that the casualty was in the aft portion of the ship. The
sound of the bells and his voice blared from 1-MC speakers all over the
ship. “Smoke, smoke, smoke. We have a smoke alarm in Auxiliary
Machinery Room #3. Away the Flying Squad. Provide from Repair
Three.” He rang the bell again and repeated the message. And then he
shoved the 1-MC microphone away.
“DC Console Watch, start your plot.”
“Already started, boss.”
Sebring glanced at the clock. Because of the possible presence of
smoke, the Flying Squad would have to wear Self-Contained Breathing
Apparatuses to enter AMR #3. Of course, at General Quarters, they would
already be wearing their SCBAs. But they would still have to light off
their breathing gear and conduct seal checks. Figure one minute for that,
plus another minute to haul ass to AMR #3, check the door for heat and
pressure, and enter the space. It would be at least two minutes before any