Tim fumbled for his blankets. The air was cold. He laid down on the bunk. Up ahead was the steady splashing of the water. Back of him a man was quietly praying.
Tim closed his eyes. His head was splitting. Perhaps sleep would bring peace.
There was no sound in the S-18 except the low breathing of men who were saving every precious breath and the sound of the water coming in through the opened seam.
“When the water reaches the batteries there’ll be chlorine,” someone muttered.
“Let’s hope it reaches them soon,” another voice replied. “This waiting is what hurts.”
Tim was drowsy, his mind a blank. The end was near for all of them. Another half hour, not much longer.
An occasional earth tremor could be felt, but they were less distinct.
Tim was on the verge of unconsciousness when the S-18 rocked sharply as though a giant hand had grasped the conning tower and was shaking the big undersea craft in a playful manner. There was the faint sound of scraping metal, followed by another shock which threw men from their bunks.
Water was cascading in upon them. Screams filled the air.
“We’ve broken in two,” was one desperate cry.