Durant would be up on the bridge. He said he always had to say good night to his ship, and he believed in long good nights. Jim had served as junior officer of the watch a few times late during first watch and mid-watch, and there was Durant, still saying good night.
Jim led Udell up to the bridge, high above the deck.
Sure enough, Durant stood behind the helmsman in the pilothouse. He glanced at Jim. “Mr. Avery.”
“Captain, may we have a word with you in private, please?” He motioned to the petty officer behind him.
“Very well.” The corners of Durant’s thin mouth turned down, and he showed them into his tiny cabin just aft of the pilothouse and shut the door. “What’s up?”
“Sir, it’s probably nothing, but...” Jim relayed the situation as concisely as possible without mentioning Reinhardt’s name.
“A padlock?” Durant perched on the edge of his desk. “Why would we keep anything locked up in a handling room? Udell, have you ever seen anything like this?”
“No, sir.”
“Odd.” The captain leaned out the door. “Mr. Banning, go with Mr. Avery. He’ll brief you on the way. I’ll take the conn.”
“Aye aye, sir.” The executive officer led them back down to the main deck.
As they walked to the gun mount, Jim repeated the story.
Lt. Vince Banning shifted his square jaw to the side and raised one eyebrow. “Water?”
“I know. But why is there water in the panel box? Why a padlock? The other turrets don’t have a lock. Something doesn’t seem right.” No need to mention the sabotage rumors.
Banning glanced behind him. “Well, I trust Udell. If he says something’s wrong, something’s wrong.”
“That’s what I thought.” Jim threw a smile behind him to the petty officer, glad Reinhardt seemed alone in his disrespect. “Say, Udell. We might need a hacksaw for that lock.”
“I’ll get it, sir.”
In the handling room, Jim showed Banning the setup. As he did, a lone drop fell from the seam of the panel box and splashed on the deck.
“I’ve got a hacksaw.” Udell clambered through the door.
Jim stepped aside to let the man work.
After a few minutes of sawing, Udell pried off the lock and opened the door. “Holy mackerel!”
Jim peered over his shoulder. A tin can sat inside on a film of water. Wires protruded from the side and poked into a block of—
Holy mackerel indeed! “Is that TNT?”
“Don’t touch a thing.” Banning cussed, lunged for the telephone, and explained the situation to the bridge.
Jim sat on his heels, his heart pounding. The rumors were right. There was a saboteur.
Within seconds, the siren clanged overhead and the loudspeaker announced general quarters.
Jim’s blood went cold. They’d run the collision drill every day at sea, preparing for any type of hull breach, from collision, stranding, a torpedo hit—or an explosion. He never dreamed they’d put it into practice so soon.
All around the ship, men would be running to their stations, closing watertight doors and hatches, preparing the damage control and medical teams, and readying the whale boats and life rafts.
Banning motioned with his thumb to the door. “Go on, Avery. Get out of here. You too, Udell.”
“No, sir,” the men said in unison.
“Fools.” Banning stared at the bomb and rubbed his hand over his mouth. “Let’s see what we have here.”
