The Iceberg

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Major Bohdan Valentinov slid out of the sluice and into the bubbler pool beneath reactor Number Four, screaming at the top of his lungs. Only the pain in his throat made him aware of the fact; the roaring of the fire above him was so loud it drowned the sound he was making, even though the bellows of terror echoed in the mouthpiece and headpiece of his black rubber diving suit. The water he plunged down into appeared to be boiling fiercely and some atavistic part of his mind howled uncontrollably in expectation of an agonising death although his well-trained intelligence insisted he had nothing immediate to fear. Nothing much from the water, at any rate; relatively speaking. The liquid was, in spite of appearances, cold, and the feeling of it was quite welcome against his nerve-heated skin as it filtered through the wet suit he was wearing. This fact was noted only distantly, however, and then placed with the overwhelming sound in the back of his mind. The moment he found his footing and regained his nerve, Valentinov was in action.

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