Ghostboat by Neal R. Burger & George E. Simpson

Author:Neal R. Burger & George E. Simpson [Burger, Neal R. & Simpson, George E.]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Amazon: B00844WPGQ
Publisher: E-Reads
Published: 2012-05-16T06:00:00+00:00

Hopalong Cassidy was stretched out on his stomach, checking the last of the stop valves, when the Captain’s order came over the speaker. “Chief engineer, chief engineer,” he grumbled. “Always the Chief—never the Indians.” He got up and went looking for Witzgall. When Cassidy found him, the old electrician’s mate had already assembled a small group of trouble-shooters. Quickly they split the boat up into sectors. Witzgall started forward, but Cassidy grabbed him. He suspected that if the trouble were to be found, it would be found aft.

The two old men zipped through the forward engine room, heading for the battery cage in the maneuvering compartment—the large junction box containing all of the boat’s circuit-breakers. There were enough volts in the cage to burn a bungler to a crisp.

Witzgall grabbed a battle lantern and opened the gate. Carefully they eased themselves inside and scanned the banks of electrical contacts. Working from memory, Cassidy isolated the sections that activated the ballast tanks. “Okay—we’ll start here,” he said.

Witzgall played his light beam on the contacts. Both men hoped that what they were looking for would be visible. They had no desire to do too much digging—not in here. After several strained minutes, Cassidy released a disappointed sigh. Everything looked to be in order. He reached for the lantern, then turned to Witzgall. “Do me a favor,” he said. “Pass the word not to make any sudden course changes.”

Witzgall grunted and went forward to relay the order.

Cassidy stooped over and placed the battle lantern on the deck. Gingerly he started to check the cables. Just hold her steady, he thought, just hold her steady... He stopped to wipe the sweat from his hands, then hunched over again. There was so little space in the cage, so little air—and the darkness. His hands felt along the bunched wires for the connectors. He tested each wire for firmness, each contact for solid coupling. He was on the next to last line when he found the problem. Cautiously he tugged on the heavily insulated wires and felt them give.

“Son of a bitch.”

The main air-bank connector contact was gone. A few exposed bits of copper causing all that trouble? He could hardly believe it. And he could see the outcome of all this. Byrnes would skin Danby, the electrical officer; then Danby would let a few electricians have a jolt—Witzgall included. Cassidy whipped out his bandanna and wrapped it around the defective wiring as a signal.

He picked up the battle lantern and backed out of the cage just as Witzgall returned. Cassidy played the light beam on his kerchief and said curtly, “There’s the problem. Fix it.”

Witzgall took one look at it and cursed, turning a pursed lip on Cassidy, who shrugged. They both knew it was Witzgall’s fault. The cage was the senior mate’s responsibility. Witzgall snatched the lantern and went inside.

The tension on the bridge was almost as thick as the fog. There was none of the usual small talk; even the lookouts were quiet.

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