explain it either.
That was when the alarms started to sound.
The Captain dropped his sandwich and ran to the bridge. His feet splashed through water all the way along. It was almost ankle-deep in some places.
The sub had become a flurry' of action. Everyone aboard was moving. Running. Scrambling. Sealing hatches. Manning controls. Trying to do whatever they
could, without really knowing what was going on.
The bridge was even worse. Everyone was talking at once, trying to figure out what was happening while trying simultaneously to correct it.
Even as he stepped onto the bridge, the Captain took command of the situation. “Status report?”
“We’re taking on water, sir,” said the executive officer. “I can see that, Roman. Tell me something I don’t know.” The Captain turned to the planesman. “Initiate emergency procedures. Blow the tanks.” Blowing the tanks—forcing high-pressure air into the ballast tanks— would displace the sea water that they currently held and make the sub more buoyant. It was the fastest way to bring the ship to the surface.
“We already did, sir,” the planesman replied, trying to keep himself under control. “It’s not working. This isn’t a minor leak. We’re taking on water at least as fast as we’re pumping it out of the tanks.”
“Have we isolated the breach?”
“Breaches, sir,” said the chief engineer. He listened to his headset for a moment. “At least two. One in the engine room, lower level. The other on the upper deck.”
“Two? Where the hell did they come from?”
“I don’t know.”
“How big?”
“One’s about three feet long and a foot wide. The other one’s bigger.”
“My God . . .”
The Captain placed his hands on one of the consoles. He bent down and hung his head as the full enormity of the situation hit him with the force of a sledgehammer. But he also remembered that he didn’t have the luxury of being able to indulge his own feelings. He had a duty to uphold.
Captain Tyler stood erect, his jaw set. “Radioman?” “Mayday signal already sent, sir. Continuing to send at one-minute intervals.”
“Good. Roman, order the men into evacuation gear. I want all non-essential personnel lined up in an orderly fashion at the escape trunks. It’s going to take time to pressurize and de-pressurize the airlocks for each group. So let’s get them started now.”
“Aye aye, sir. But you know we’re at nine hundred feet. Even if they get out, the pressure out there—”
“I know. But right now, we don’t have a choice. Meanwhile, planesman, throttleman—”
"‘Sir.”
“Angle us up toward the surface. Throttle on full. Let’s try to get up there the hard way.”
“Sir, we’ve got electrical failures starting to hit all over the place. At the rate we’re taking on water, we can’t possibly make it...”
“No, but maybe we can get high enough to give us better odds for evacuation.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
The Captain said a silent prayer.
The evacuation started out in every bit as orderly a fashion as the Captain had demanded. The Kolodny was manned by a carefully-screened, highly disciplined crew. Standard Naval emergency procedures had been laid out in detail and practiced in countless training sessions, until they were second nature. Those procedures were critical now.
Yet, as the water rose down below, the orderly evacuation dissolved into chaos. Fights broke out among the crew, as the desperate men tore at each other to be the next ones through the escape hatches. Panic turned people who had been friends only hours before into animals battling for survival.
In all the commotion, no one noticed three twelve-year-olds, two girls and one boy, standing in the shadows. The trio watched the scene with impassive expressions.
It took three hours for rescue craft to reach the USS Kolodny’s last known position. Out of the crew of one hundred and sixty, they found seventeen survivors.
Captain Robert Tyler was not
That was when the alarms started to sound.
The Captain dropped his sandwich and ran to the bridge. His feet splashed through water all the way along. It was almost ankle-deep in some places.
The sub had become a flurry' of action. Everyone aboard was moving. Running. Scrambling. Sealing hatches. Manning controls. Trying to do whatever they
could, without really knowing what was going on.
The bridge was even worse. Everyone was talking at once, trying to figure out what was happening while trying simultaneously to correct it.
Even as he stepped onto the bridge, the Captain took command of the situation. “Status report?”
“We’re taking on water, sir,” said the executive officer. “I can see that, Roman. Tell me something I don’t know.” The Captain turned to the planesman. “Initiate emergency procedures. Blow the tanks.” Blowing the tanks—forcing high-pressure air into the ballast tanks— would displace the sea water that they currently held and make the sub more buoyant. It was the fastest way to bring the ship to the surface.
“We already did, sir,” the planesman replied, trying to keep himself under control. “It’s not working. This isn’t a minor leak. We’re taking on water at least as fast as we’re pumping it out of the tanks.”
“Have we isolated the breach?”
“Breaches, sir,” said the chief engineer. He listened to his headset for a moment. “At least two. One in the engine room, lower level. The other on the upper deck.”
“Two? Where the hell did they come from?”
“I don’t know.”
“How big?”
“One’s about three feet long and a foot wide. The other one’s bigger.”
“My God . . .”
The Captain placed his hands on one of the consoles. He bent down and hung his head as the full enormity of the situation hit him with the force of a sledgehammer. But he also remembered that he didn’t have the luxury of being able to indulge his own feelings. He had a duty to uphold.
Captain Tyler stood erect, his jaw set. “Radioman?” “Mayday signal already sent, sir. Continuing to send at one-minute intervals.”
“Good. Roman, order the men into evacuation gear. I want all non-essential personnel lined up in an orderly fashion at the escape trunks. It’s going to take time to pressurize and de-pressurize the airlocks for each group. So let’s get them started now.”
“Aye aye, sir. But you know we’re at nine hundred feet. Even if they get out, the pressure out there—”
“I know. But right now, we don’t have a choice. Meanwhile, planesman, throttleman—”
"‘Sir.”
“Angle us up toward the surface. Throttle on full. Let’s try to get up there the hard way.”
“Sir, we’ve got electrical failures starting to hit all over the place. At the rate we’re taking on water, we can’t possibly make it...”
“No, but maybe we can get high enough to give us better odds for evacuation.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
The Captain said a silent prayer.
The evacuation started out in every bit as orderly a fashion as the Captain had demanded. The Kolodny was manned by a carefully-screened, highly disciplined crew. Standard Naval emergency procedures had been laid out in detail and practiced in countless training sessions, until they were second nature. Those procedures were critical now.
Yet, as the water rose down below, the orderly evacuation dissolved into chaos. Fights broke out among the crew, as the desperate men tore at each other to be the next ones through the escape hatches. Panic turned people who had been friends only hours before into animals battling for survival.
In all the commotion, no one noticed three twelve-year-olds, two girls and one boy, standing in the shadows. The trio watched the scene with impassive expressions.
It took three hours for rescue craft to reach the USS Kolodny’s last known position. Out of the crew of one hundred and sixty, they found seventeen survivors.
Captain Robert Tyler was not
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