North Cape

"Is there anything that can be done?" Larkin asked.

"Yes, sir. Flood the tank." The tinny reproduction of the intercom barely concealed the nervousness of the man's voice. Folsom could imagine him all alone in the immensity of the tank, knowing that the interior hatch was secured and that it would take forty seconds to get it open. If the patch should go, he would be crushed to death by tons of freezing water pouring into the tank. That same water would also pull the RFK down farther by the how until the first wave that broke would send her straight to the bottom. Folsom could feel the knot of fear rising into his throat, threatening to erupt into endless screams. The figures on the scratch pad, which he had scribbled from the strain-gauge dials, dissolved into a meaningless jumble, and the console reeled for a moment before he clenched the side of the plotting table and gripped until his knuckles went dead white. He fought with his body to control the panic as he watched the wind indicator flicker wildly with the first of the gusts that would quickly grow to a full 125-knot gale. Flashes of thought broke through his *guard… the sudden wrenching snap as the bow broke loose under the pounding and the bulkheads… never designed to withstand the pressures of the naked, angry sea… giving way one by one… the RFK settling deeper into the waves… the Arctic seas pounding and smashing through the bulkheads… the ship buckling against the impact… plunging bow downward.…

"We're shoring up the patch and the structural member with braces, but they won't hold up long."

"All right then, do what you can and keep me informed." Larkin's voice was calm in the midst of Folsom's own mental storm. "But as soon as you get the braces installed, I want you and the crew out of there. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir, but if we stay, or one of us anyway, we'll shave time to warn you and get out."

"No," Larkin said sharply. "You could not give me any more than a minute or so warning. The strain gauges will provide that. As soon as you are finished with the bracing, get out and report aft to the repair station. Is that understood?" Larkin's matter-of-fact analysis of the situation and Rigsby's almost suicidal offer to remain behind in the hull tank to provide the ship with a few seconds extra warning began to calm Folsom. He had never experienced this kind of paralyzing fear before, but he knew, as did every man who faces danger in situations over which he has little control, that eventually he would meet this shattering fear at least once before he died. He had seen men suddenly grow rigid before going into battle, or divers just before making a deep dive, veterans who had been through many engagements. It happened, and there was nothing you could do about it except hope that you could handle the situation when it did happen. He reached down and picked up the pencil that had dropped from his nerveless fingers and pressed it slowly onto the pad, willing his muscles to move again, to continue to draw the numbers indicating the course change required and the time they would have to lose at reduced speed to bring them to the rendezvous point on time.

Larkin flicked off the intercom and turned to Folsom. His voice was strong and full of command. "Mr. Folsom, get me an exact position fix, as close as you can. Then run the new course through the computer and alert the crew that we are coming about. Keep them at general quarters until We have straightened out on the new course… and make sure that Rigsby and the rest are out of that hull tank. Give them five minutes more. I'm going below for my foul-weather gear. You will take the conn while I am outside, but follow my directions."

"Outside!" Folsom exploded. "Captain, you can't go out there!" Larkin grinned. "Watch me. How else do you think we are going to get her around? You can't see worth a damn through that screen. This ship is going to have to be steered around those waves like a tin can. That means we come about as we crest a wave — and only the right wave at that — and complete the turn before we hit the bottom of the trough or else we will roll over and go right to the bottom." Folsom took a deep breath. "Captain, you. will freeze to death before we can come about."

"Not if you hurry about it."

Larkin turned away and hurried down to his cabin for his foul-weather gear. When he returned to the bridge a few minutes later, Folsom was just finishing his instructions to the helmsman. He looked up as Larkin came onto the bridge, zipping up his jacket. A marine came hurrying up with a nylon safety line and clipped one end to the harness already around Larkin's chest.