The Hunt for Red October - Tom Clancy [159]
"Aye, Comrade Captain!" Kamarov went aft.
Ramius lifted the microphone to give this news to the crew. Everyone was waiting for something. Forward, some crewmen muttered among themselves that minor was a word suffering from overuse, that nuclear submarines did not run on diesel and ventilate with surface air for the hell of it.
Finished with his terse announcement, Ramius ordered the submarine to approach the surface.
The Dallas
"Beats me, Skipper." Jones shook his head. "Reactor noises have stopped, pumps are cut way back, but he's running at the same speed, just like before. On battery, I guess."
"Must be a hell of a battery system to drive something that big this fast," Mancuso observed.
"I did some computations on that a few hours ago." Jones held up his pad. "This is based on the Typhoon hull, with a nice slick hull coefficient, so it's probably conservative."
"Where did you learn to do this, Jonesy?"
"Mr. Thompson looked up the hydrodynamic stuff for me. The electrical end is fairly simple. He might have something exotic—fuel cells, maybe. If not, if he's running ordinary batteries, he has enough raw electrical power to crank every car in L.A."
Mancuso shook his head. "Can't last forever."
Jones held up his hand. "Hull creaking . . .Sounds like he's going up some."
The Red October
"Raise snorkle," Ramius said. Looking through the periscope he verified that the snorkle was up. "Well, no other ships in view. That is good news. I think we have lost our imperialist hunters. Raise the ESM antenna. Let's be sure no enemy aircraft are lurking about with their radars."
"Clear, Comrade Captain." Bugayev was manning the ESM board. "Nothing at all, not even airline sets."
"So, we have indeed lost our rat pack." Ramius lifted the phone again. "Melekhin, you may open the main induction and vent the engine spaces, then start the diesel." A minute later everyone aboard felt the vibration as the October's massive diesel engine cranked on battery power. This sucked up all the air from the reactor spaces, replacing it with air drawn through the snorkle and ejecting the "contaminated" air into the sea.
The engine continued to crank two minutes, and throughout the hull men waited for the rumble that would mean the engine had caught and could generate power to run the electric motors. It didn't catch. After another thirty seconds the cranking stopped. The control room phone buzzed. Ramius lifted it.
"What is wrong with the diesel, Comrade Chief Engineer?" the captain asked sharply. "I see. I'll send men back—oh. Stand by." Ramius looked around, his mouth a thin, bloodless smile. The junior engineering officer, Svyadov, was standing at the back of the compartment. "I need a man who knows diesel engines to help Comrade Melekhin."
"I grew up on a State farm," Bugayev said. "I started playing with tractor engines as a boy."
"There is an additional problem . . ."
Bugayev nodded knowingly. "So I gather, Comrade Captain, but we need the diesel, do we not?"
"I will not forget this, Comrade," Ramius said quietly.
"Then you can buy me some rum in Cuba, Comrade." Bugayev smiled courageously. "I wish to meet a Cuban comrade, preferably one with long hair."
"May I accompany you, Comrade?" Svyadov asked anxiously. He had just been going on watch, approaching the reactor room hatch, when he'd been knocked aside by escaping crewmen.
"Let us assess the nature of the problem first," Bugayev said, looking at Ramius for confirmation.
"Yes, there is plenty