"Thirty to thirty five off vertical."
"Direction—got a compass?"
"Yes."
"Set the blue on zero. Course two hundred seventy five degrees."
"Blue on zero. Course two seven five."
"Dex sixty nine point two zero feet. That'll put you into Eleven's class yard—so big you can't miss it."
"Distance sixty nine point two—that all? Fine! Maybe we'll make it, after all. They're sinking a shaft, of course. From where?"
"About four miles in on Six. It'll take time."
"If we can get up into Eleven we'll have all the time on the clock—it'll take a week or more to flood Twelve's stopes. But this sag is sure as hell going to be touch and go. And say, from the throw of the pump and the volume of the sump, will you give me the best estimate you can of how much time we've got? I want at least an hour, but I'm afraid I won't have it."
"Yes. I'll call you back."