31 09:12 hours. Mist. Altitude 950 meters and dropping, said Bea, her concern growing as the visibility dropped. Airspeed dropping too, 46 kph. Rain shower ahead. Will this rig float, Professor? asked Alice of Porsche. At the chart table, he made some paper calculations, drawing an outline of the Bear. The cargo bay is sealed off via the doors, but it will fill with seawater. Its the biggest compartment on the ship, and with the door hexagon skin damaged, the bubble is compromised in that section. We might stay afloat, but I presume we will be half submerged. Its a guess. Bernie looked out the raindrop-covered window at a submarine ahead of them on the surface; he adjusted for focus. Interception course. Its American, Gato Class. Were barely outrunning him for now. He wont have security clearance for us, which means he doesnt have the word, and probably under radio silence this far out on patrol. Our mission is far above top secret. Christ, if we land on water hell probably put a fish right up our ass and call it a day. I see a second submarine! cried Geer at the Starboard windows. Its a wolf pack! Gott, what else is following us? breathed Klemperer. Fucking Yankee Navy. Bea said: 901 meters. Speed 22 kph. Bernie tuned in the radio. X Flapjack Five to Mount Weather, Flapjack Five to Mount Weather. Losing altitude fast. Sharks are closing in, repeat, sharks closing in. Please advise, over. Silence, static. / Mount Weather to Flapjack. Help is on the way. Repeat, help is on the way. Use flares if necessary, repeat, useflares if necessary. Warn them off, warn them off Come on Gwafa! They ran to the cargo bay and rummaged for emergency flares. Why the hell didnt I think of that? Gwafa opened the life raft stowage compartment. Flare guns and flares. Will this work? I dunno, worth a try, said Bernie, stuffing flare cartridges into his pockets.