Like the rest of the Falconer, Kate Manning had taken a hard tumble to the deck seconds after the abrupt explosion somewhere in the bow section of the big ship. Stirring uneasily and brushing the hair away from her face, Kate put a hand to her aching head. It didn't take much supposition on her part to comprehend what had just occurred: somehow, Seaview managed to fire on the Falconer, successfully hitting the ship below the water line. And Harry was somewhere below.

Before her mind could begin conjuring images of his fate, the emerging cacophony from the bridge and the overriding hum of Lightning Bolt impelled her. Seaview provided the diversion; now was her chance to make something of it.

Size up the enemy before you attack and hit their weakest point, her father had once advised as young Kate the tomboy was about to embark in her first scuffle with the neighborhood bully. With his words in mind, she glanced quickly to the flying bridge just in time to see Briere awkwardly heave his corpulence off the deck. Even from her distorted vantage Kate could discern the contorted bitter anger upon his face. Glancing to her right, Marco was sprawled motionless across the deck, obviously a casualty after colliding headfirst with the hard surface. Presently, the only thing between Kate Manning and Seaview's destructive force was Emil Carag.

Springing to her feet like a nimble cat, Kate hit low, striking the surprised doctor well below the belt. She took great solace in seeing the man she had earlier referred to as 'vermin' double over and unwittingly sink to his knees as something akin to a squeak escaped his lips. Stepping over the fallen man, Kate kept low, using Lightning Bolt's platform to shield her from plain sight. Inching her way to the instrumentation, she quickly reset the coordinates. The white arc continued to pulse freely but now Seaview was no longer its target.

~oOo~

Chip grabbed onto the plot table as the boat pitched noticeably to port, righted itself then rolled again. Calling to the helmsman, "Maintain neutral buoyancy!"

"Sir, I'm trying but she won't respond!" The boat rolled again, toppling the crew of the control room to the deck.

Reaching for the intercom and praying there was enough juice to get his message out, Chip shouted into the instrument, "Captain Crane, come in!"

Nothing but the sound of Chip's own voice echoed back.

Heaving himself quickly to his feet, "Clark, lay aft to engineering. Tell the captain we've lost trim and we're sinking. Tell him we'll be at crush depth in," he checked the fathometer and did a quick calculation, "twelve minutes. Get going—on the double!"

Negotiating the rocking and rolling corridors with learned experience, Clark raced out of the Control Room, repeating the Exec's message over and over in his head.

Seaman Clark moved deftly through the corridors, steadying himself with one hand on the bulkhead as Seaview suddenly lurched sideways, neatly threading his way around his fellow crewmen, several of whom were walking wounded, until he reached engineering.

The scene in engineering was chaotic. Fire details and repair crews ran an orchestrated race, securing stations amid the grayish white smoke that accompanied a flurry of electrical fires. At the center of the action stood Chief Sharkey and Captain Crane.

Sharkey wiped the perspiration from his brow with the back of a dirty hand, leaving a grimy streak on his forehead. "Right now I think about all the juice we can muster is powered by hamsters in a wheel. Main generators are still down and it'll take days to repair the damage. I think we're looking at a complete overhaul. We've got about thirty-five percent of our auxiliaries. They're giving us what we need to function for now but I'm not holding my breath."

Clark skidded to a halt and nervously interrupted, "Begging your pardon, sir but I have an urgent message from Mr. Morton." The young man took a deep breath and continued, "Sir, Mr. Morton said to tell you we've lost trim and we're sinking. He said at the rate we're descending, we'll be at crush depth in twelve…" he remembered the minute it took him to race here, "eleven minutes."

Crane's mind flew into overdrive as he searched and found a solution. "Chief, Clark, come with me!"

The air in the circuitry room was heavy with the acrid stench of electrical fires, many of which were still smoldering. "Chief, how long will it take to reroute all remaining power to the engines? The air may get a bit foul and we'll be in the dark but at least we'll still be floating."

"About eight minutes, Skipper," he answered, already tearing off the panel.

"Make it six. Clark, get back to the control room. Tell Mr. Morton to reverse all engines in six minutes by my watch…I make the time 1824 hours." As Clark disappeared, Lee grabbed a flashlight and did his best to keep from hovering over Sharkey, grateful when the chief asked for his help.

"I think we'll make it, sir. It's just a matter of rerouting his circuit here and…got it." In response the entire boat went dark. A few seconds later, Seaview hummed as all engines reversed at full power. Neutral buoyancy was restored in a matter of minutes.

The chief let out a noticeable sigh, both from relief and fatigue, while Lee collapsed against the bulkhead, a thankful smile emerging on his tense, dark features. "Good work, chief."

Sharkey grinned sheepishly, as he always did when compliments were passed his way. "We're just lucky the reactor hasn't shut down."

The two men were interrupted by the distinct sound of wheezing coming from the open hatchway. Clark, preceded by a yellow wash of light, stepped inside the compartment. "Mr. Morton reports we are holding at 3,800ft."

~oOo~

Now, as he realized all his planning, all his hard work was slowly sinking, Maxwell Briere's well-tempered anger was boundless. Stumbling down the steps to the vacated bridge, he pillaged through the various supply lockers until he found the last remaining 9mm handgun and two spare magazines. As he tested the weight in his hand, ran his fingers over the cold, smooth barrel, it was hard to believe Briere was a man who abhorred guns.

Glimpsing the once dedicated crew running like lemmings towards the railing, he took aim and fired, assisting each man in his haste to leave the ship. Satisfied the dissenting crew was no longer an issue, he turned his attention to Dr. Manning.

~oOo~

The force of the explosion had knocked Nelson's feet out from under him, sending him crashing against the unforgiving metal stairs. With the brunt of the force falling on his injured shoulder, he had easily succumbed to the darkening pain that quickly consumed him.

The sound of gunshots from somewhere aboard the ship slowly stirred his senses. Shifting his body and fighting against the pain that spread across his chest, numbing his arm, he slowly inched his way up. Reaching the landing of the lower deck and using the railing to lever himself to his feet, he half staggered, half ran through the slanted passageway. With Karl's gun hanging loosely in his right hand, he expected to encounter at least some of the crew once he made his way forward. He was surprised when he did not.

Hesitating at the base of the companionway that opened onto the main deck and regaining some of his strength, he lowered his body and cautiously crept up one step at a time. Arriving near the top, he paused. Hearing no noise, no approaching footsteps, he crawled awkwardly along the passageway until he found an unencumbered view of the bow. What he saw paralyzed him.

For a large man Briere moved with incredible alacrity. It was this nimbleness that allowed him to slink undetected behind her. Grabbing Kate by the hair and jerking her awkwardly to her feet, he carefully avoided the radius of the pulsing white beam arching aimlessly across the ocean as he tugged and pulled her along. Not cooperating by any means, Kate put up her own fight. Lashing out behind her, she caught his shin with the heel of her boot, only succeeding in making him angrier.

Pointing the barrel of the pistol under her chin, he increased his vise-like grip on her. "Admiral Nelson!" he yelled. "I know you're there, admiral. You, your Seaview," he spat the word with considerable contempt, "took something from me. Now I'm taking something from you."

Disregarding everything else to obey one single impulse, Nelson bolted to his feet and stepped out into the open. "Briere!"

Hearing Nelson's voice, Kate tried to turn only to feel the pressure on her neck tighten.

"Admiral Nelson. Something told me this might attract your attention." Moving as one with Kate, Briere inched towards the beam of pulsating energy. "Won't you please drop the weapon?"

Seeing no other option, Nelson did as he was asked.

"I want you to know, admiral, that although I did have every intention of killing both you and Dr. Manning, I did so hope that Dr. Manning's death would be quick. I truly did not want to see her suffer. However, seeing how the two of you conspired against me, I have no choice but to make her death painful for the both of you."

As Briere, with Kate in tow, edged towards Lightning Bolt, Nelson realized what was about to happen. The thought sickened and horrified him: if Kate came into direct contact with the arc, she would easily be seared alive.

"Briere, no!" he shouted. "If you want someone to suffer, shoot me but let her live. She never conspired against you." It was obvious now that Briere was quite mad, that the only way to reason with him was to indulge him. Seeing a remote spark of interest in Briere's eyes, Nelson continued, "I forced her to take those tools, to help me. It was all my idea. I contacted Seaview."

Listening to Nelson's words instilled abject horror in Kate. She knew he was trying to divert Briere's attention to himself, to make himself the target, and she wasn't about to stand for it. "No," she replied evenly, "he's lying. I did everything I could to conspire against you. I despised you and this entire project from the onset." If she thought could have reached him, she would have spat in his face to emphasize her point.

Knowing Kate made a much more convincing argument, Nelson dropped his head and felt the nauseating sickness swell. "Kate…no." The two words, spoken as a whisper, were heavy with anguish as he closed his eyes against what was about to happen.

~oOo~

Beads of perspiration raced down the side of Chip Morton's face, gathering on his jaw and slowly dripping onto his already dampened shirt. With a relieved sigh, he relayed the latest news: "Well, there hasn't been another report of fire or blown circuits in almost an hour. Engineering has a technician running diagnostics on all pumps and switches including the gyrostabilizer. We've got eighty-five percent of auxiliary power back online, the reactor is running a little hot but under control and we're still floating. Think it's safe to assume the worst is over?"

Lee wiped his hand across his brow and leaned on the plot table. "Not until we get rid of this oppressive heat."

"The Environmental Control System is out. A repair crew is working on it now." Glancing at the almost incomprehensible reading from the temperature gauge for the second time, Chip stripped away his tie and loosened his shirt collar. "Temperature is 98 degrees and still climbing."

Lee picked up the intercom and pressed the button, getting nothing in return but dead silence. Slamming it down, he turned to Chip and spoke rapidly, the frustration apparent on his face. "And communications is still out!" Breaking his usual staid appearance, he too loosened his tie and collar. His burst of anger quickly quelled, he now spoke with a restored quiet calm, "Have a repair crew check out the Flying Sub."

Lee didn't have to explain why he wanted FS-1 checked out. Chip and every man in the control room knew. Although he would deny it, Lee was as anxious as a nervous cat. Chip knew the minute Seaview was safe and secure, Lee begin the search for the admiral.

"Kowalski, you heard the Skipper, get a couple of men and check out the Flying Sub."

"Aye, aye, sir." Kowalski, excited to have something to do besides stare at a dead sonar screen, jumped up. "Smitty, Evans, come with me."

Kowalski opened the hatch leading to the FS-1's berth and a puff a white smoke wafted up. Waving away the cloud, Kowalski, with the two men following closely behind, disappeared down the ladder.

It took Kowalski and his repair crew half an hour to discern that the damage to the Flying Sub wasn't too bad and should only take a couple of hours or so to repair. He got a disgruntled frown from the Skipper when he added the "or so" but he hastily added that he would have a better idea once he tore the panel off and got to work.

Twenty minutes later, Lee gave the order to surface.

Forty-five minutes later, after having to manually release steel ballast in order to counter the inoperable main ballast, the Seaview successfully breached the surface and one hundred and twenty five men breathed a collective sigh of relief.

~oOo~

Kate's scream and two gunshots echoed across the water, causing Nelson to quickly look up. Kate lay in a crumpled heap on the deck. Next to her was the unmoving form of Maxwell Briere.

Unable to fathom what had just transpired, Nelson lunged for Kate, falling to his knees at her side and scooping her up in his arms. Searching for any outward signs of a wound, he was alarmed, relieved and confused when he found none. Giving her face a gentle pat, he almost fell over when her eyelids fluttered open and he found himself staring into the most beautiful green eyes he had ever seen.

"If you ever do that again, Kathleen Manning, I swear I'll…"

"You'll what, Admiral Nelson?" she asked, a loose grin tugging at the corners of her mouth as she struggled to sit up.

He fell into a sitting position and ran his hand over the back of his head, a look of relief washing over his rough features. "I'll be dead from a heart attack, damn it!" he replied with feigned exacerbation. His demeanor softening, "What happened?"

"It was Marco. Briere always said he was a good shot. He wasn't kidding."

"Marco? Why would he save your life?"

"Don't ask me how or why but I think in some odd way, we bonded." She caught his skeptical frown. "Harry, at this point, does it really matter?"

He shook his head. "No, I guess it doesn't." The loud hum attracting his attention, he was pressed into action by several items that did matter. Hampered by the increasing inclination of the deck as the ship creaked and groaned and shifted further into the water, Nelson struggled to get to his feet. "I think it's high time we did something about this," he said at last, supporting his left arm at the elbow.

Doing a double take at the sight of Carag's unconscious form, curled in the fetal position near the platform, Nelson gestured with his thumb. "What happened to him?"

Kate was just getting to her feet. "I decked him," she answered nonchalantly.

Cocking an eyebrow, the admiral shook his head and let out a deep, disbelieving sigh.

As he gave the pulsating beam the wide respect it demanded, Kate drifted towards the prone, lifeless body that lay near the railing. Unlike Briere, Marco had not died instantly. Kneeling beside him, her hand gently lowered the eyelids, covering the unseeing stare that focused intently on the blue sky above.

"Thank you," she said in a whisper that sounded much louder in her own ears once she realized the loud hum was silent.

A sudden explosion deep in the belly of the hull sent her tumbling onto the deck.

A master at balancing himself on rolling vessels, Nelson managed to use the Lightning Bolt's platform to brace himself when the second explosion hit. Reaching Kate as she was lifting herself off the deck, he took her by the hand and quickly led her aft.

"What are you doing?" she asked with a hint of annoyance at his abrupt behavior.

"Getting you off this ship," he replied sternly.

She stopped suddenly, her hand jerking free from his and sending a noticeable tremor of pain through him. "Whoa!" she said, feeling miserably regretful seconds later for the discomfort the action caused.

Instinctively grabbing his shoulder, he took a deep breath, waiting several minutes for the blazing pain to cease so he could continue. This last explosion and the resulting smoke that was billowing up from the lower deck were merely indications of what was coming. He wasn't going to argue with her this time.

The pain now tolerable, he continued on his way. His expression set with iron determination, he found what he was searching for: a single rubber dinghy secured to the side of the ship just along the outside passageway.

"Help me with this," he said with such command she automatically did as he asked. Standing close to the side, they lowered the raft into the water then lashed it to the cleat with the length of line.

Unhooking the chain that ran across the gangway, he urged her forward. "I want you to jump. When you hit the water, get into the dinghy as soon as possible. It will provide suitable insulation against any residual current in the water. Once you're in the dinghy, get as far away from the ship as you can. When she goes down, you need to be far enough away or you'll get sucked into the turbulence."

Firmly taking hold of the railing and trying to move away from the opening, she shook her head vehemently. "I told you, I'm not going anywhere without you."

Nelson huffed impatiently. "I'm not going to debate this with you. There's no time. That smoke means the hold is on fire. In a few minutes there's going to be another explosion."

"And what about you? You can't swim—not with that shoulder"

"I want to try to raise Seaview. I can work much faster if I don't have you to worry about." Seeing the obstinate look in her eye, he realized how difficult he must be at times. "Kate, I'll be fine. There are plenty of life jackets on board and…"

"No," she argued emphatically, "I'm not leaving you."

Exasperated, he made a swift decision. Impulsively slipping his hand around the nape of her neck and drawing her close, he placed an ardent kiss upon her lips. "I love you, Kate Manning," he said in an even voice, blue eyes blazing intensely. He knew it was a bit underhanded, picking this moment to say the words he had never openly professed before. He had hoped to say them under different circumstances but he knew what effect they would have. And he might never get another chance.

Stunned beyond words, her grip on the railing loosening as she openly gaped at him, he took the opportunity to give her a firm push.

"You'll thank me for this," he called out, watching as she hit the water almost 20ft. below then safely floated to the surface and swam for the waiting dinghy. As she hauled herself into the boat and he saw the irate scowl directed at him, he rethought what he said: maybe she wouldn't thank him after all. Unlashing the line and knowing she was finally safe, he felt as though a huge worry had been lifted from his shoulders.