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He stuck his head in the Officers’ Study. The nav wasn’t there, but the chart was. He also noticed, to his displeasure, that the coffee pot had been left on, and the space was filled with the bitter smell of the scorched, empty pot. Jabo glanced at the chart. The stamped box at the bottom had not been signed, which was required before he could use it for navigation. Where the fuck is he? Thought Jabo, as he rolled up the chart. It irritated him that the Nav would walk away from the chart like that when they had needed it in control for at least an hour. He couldn’t imagine what a higher priority would be. He walked down another ladder, to the wardroom, and walked in.

The captain and XO looked up at him over their coffee cups. “Danny, aren’t you supposed to be relieving young Jay?” said the Captain.

“Yes sir, just need to get this chart approved by the nav, thought I might find him in here.”

The captain and XO looked at each other. “You need that chart for the next watch?” said the XO.

He hesitated for just a second — he knew what he was about to say would put both the Nav and Hein up shit creek. “We need it right now. They’ve got us plotted in the margin, heading off the edge.”

A look passed between the XO and captain. The captain sat back and raised an eyebrow. “No chart at twenty knots. Jesus Christ.”

“Give it here,” said the XO, pulling a pen from his pocket. “I’ll approve the fucking thing.”

As he reached for his pen, the 4MC crackled. The 4MC was an amplified phone circuit designated for use in emergencies only. Just the sound of its distinctive static was enough to trigger an adrenalin surge from an experienced submariner.

“Fire in missile compartment third level!” came the announcement. “Fire in the ship’s laundry!”

The chart forgotten, Jabo bolted from the wardroom without a word and headed aft, toward the fire. He heard the XO and CO clamor up the ladder to control behind him. As he ran, he was surprised to see the navigator hurrying forward, donning his flash hood and his firefighting gloves, also moving toward control. The navigator was supposed to be in control during emergencies, so he was going in the right direction. But for all his responsibilities, he didn’t have much to do aft of the forward bulkhead, and Jabo wondered what he was doing back there while a needed chart was languishing on the Officers’ Study table. All thoughts about the nav disappeared as Jabo smelled smoke and saw an orange glow coming from the laundry where just minutes before he’d been chatting with Petty Officer Howard.

• • •

There is no such thing as a minor fire on a submarine, a sealed tube containing 154 men and a very finite quantity of breathable air. Fires consume oxygen as they emit toxic fumes, most notably carbon monoxide. Fires threaten electrical systems as wires and breakers melt and scorch. And throughout the ship ran pipes full of high-pressure fluids and gasses, substances that didn’t react well to open flame: hydraulic oil, high pressure air, and pure oxygen, a breech in any of which could turn a simple fire into a blowtorch, and a compartment into a furnace. The ship’s pure oxygen was manufactured just aft of the laundry, in Machinery Two, and it was the oxygen generators that Jabo thought of as he ran to the scene.

“Lieutenant Jabo is the man charge!” he shouted as he arrived. Men were hustling, several in their underwear, fresh out of the rack. He spotted MM1 Jantzen, who seemed to be the second highest ranking man on the scene, already putting on a sound powered phone head set. He relayed to control that Jabo was in charge. Both Jabo and Jantzen pulled their EABs, or emergency air breathing masks, over their heads. He breathed in to pull the mask against his face, verifying the seal of the rubber, then plugged into the manifold over their heads. He took a deep breath of the cool, oily-smelling air.

The navigator’s voice on the 1MC announced, “Fire in the Ship’s Laundry, Lieutenant Jabo is the man in charge. The fire main is pressurized.”

Jabo turned; there were fire hoses located throughout the ship, twenty-two in all at every level and compartment, and memorizing their locations was one of the first things a new man did when he reported to the boat. There was one directly behind the laundry, and he was surprised that there wasn’t already a hose team at the scene ready to unleash, they were trained to put water on a fire in seconds.

But there was a problem; he saw a group of men frantically pawing at the hose. He leaned over, then detached from his EAB manifold, took two long steps, and moved closer.

“What’s wrong?”