by Bobby Akart
Cam furrowed her brow and added, “I heard about something like this happening in Alaska. The tectonic plates rubbed together, and the sea floor burped. It took a ship down in the process.”
Gunner’s cell phone notified him of a message. “It’s from Jackal. The Sea Searcher II will be there about the time we connect with the chopper at the Coast Guard facility in San Juan. They have this on board.”
He showed Bear a photograph of DSC-6, the similar submersible to the one piloted by Masterson to the U-boat wreckage.
“I can handle this. No prob. I won’t know jack about the onboard computers, though.”
“Good,” said Cam. “Then you won’t touch any of it. Let’s get down there. Learn more about the U-boat’s cargo and out again.”
“Roger,” said Gunner. He leaned back and recalled his mission into space. The weightlessness of zero gravity and the odd feeling of walking on the lunar surface. He closed his eyes and thought of Heather. He recalled her words and wondered if it applied to the bottom of the ocean.
Every day is a good day when you’re floating.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Aboard the Sea Searcher II
One Hundred Seventy Miles North of Puerto Rico
North Atlantic Ocean
It took eight hours for the Gray Fox team to rendezvous with the Sea Searcher II. An unexpected thunderstorm developed over Puerto Rico, which grounded the Sikorsky helicopter for an hour. The rescue ship was also delayed as it awaited the arrival of a hazardous material crew to arrive as well as a team of medical specialists to examine the bodies. This was a massive effort that originally was to be a rescue effort but was now the maritime equivalent of a CSI investigation.
For Gunner and his team, they were investigating the possible cause of the mass killing. The answers were twenty-eight thousand feet under the Atlantic. By the time they’d arrived, the ship was stopped, and members of the hazmat crew were suiting up for their journey to the Sea Searcher I full of decaying bodies.
The three of them were immediately taken to the bridge, where they marveled at the advanced sonar and navigation equipment. The captain explained the different purposes of his ship and the Sea Searcher I, which was located a thousand feet off their bow.
After leaving the bridge, they were taken below deck to meet the chief survey technician. He explained the geographical features of the Puerto Rico Trench and especially the Milwaukee Deep located near the wreckage. The gas blowouts measured one hundred fifty feet deep and up to half a mile wide. The underwater methane was released and formed gas bubbles capable of creating massive blobs rising to the surface. If they encountered one of these bubbles while navigating to the ocean floor, it could either carry them back up or send the HOV into an uncontrollable tumble.
While Bear assured the gentleman he could navigate the DSC-6 to steer clear of the vent holes and the steep drop-offs associated with the Milwaukee Deep, the chief survey technician provided him a cheat sheet with global position coordinates to follow.
Next, they met with the scientists in the acoustics lab. They’d already begun to map the floor where the wreckage was located to provide Gunner’s team a more complete overall picture of what they were about to tackle rather than photographs taped together and affixed to a bulletin board. The sonar surveys reminded Gunner how large the U-boat was. Based upon Ballard’s videography and the sonar survey provided to him, Gunner was able to plot a direct route into the cargo hold to save time on the ocean floor.
At last, it was time. Gunner spent half an hour with the technical engineers, getting checked out on the exosuit. His experience in space gave him a huge leg up on anyone who’d never worked in a weightless environment. It took Gunner a little time to learn how to use the V-clamp hand and the accompanying five-digit grabber on the other side.
Again, based on their mission, he was told to focus on carefully retrieving two of the canisters without breaching their seals or accidentally opening the tops. Although none of the crew of the Sea Searcher II had ventured on to their sister ship yet, based upon blown-up images taken by a drone flown directly over the deck, it appeared the canisters were designed to contain something. They just didn’t know what. They did know the contents might’ve been responsible for killing everyone on board.
After all the warnings, admonitions, and wishes of good luck, the team was ready to go. Gunner took one final look across the rolling sea at the Sea Searcher I. The deck was crawling with scientists wearing bright yellow suits and protective personal gear as they cataloged every aspect of the dead. He imagined as the day progressed, body bags would be sent over and the bodies would be flown to laboratories for further study.
The response to this accident reflected the level of concern Ghost and his superiors had. It was also a reminder to Gunner that whatever was contained in that cargo hold, it was dangerous. They would have to exercise caution every step of the way.
“Guys, last chance,” Gunner began. “This could be all kinds of FUBAR if things go south.”
Bear leaned on the aft railing and studied the activity on the other ship. He shrugged and turned to Cam.
“Day by day.”
She nodded. “Minute by minute.”
“Ride or die,” added Gunner.
“We stick together,” they said in unison as they exchanged fist bumps. They marched toward the HOV with confidence.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
One Hundred Seventy Miles off the North Coast of Puerto Rico
The Puerto Rico Trench
Depth: 15,000 feet
Fathoms: 2,500
The Deepsea Challenger 6
North Atlantic Ocean
“It’s kinda like droppin’ a hot-air balloon to the ground,” said Bear calmly as he skippered the Deepsea Challenger 6 to the bottom of the Puerto Rico Trench. “Really, the computer does most of the work on the descent and, likewise, when we return topside. The tricky part will be around the wreckage. When I was getting checked out on this thing, they warned me about the odd currents caused by the methane gas spewing out of the vents. I don’t wanna beat us against the sub.”
While they’d waited for the green light to dive, Gunner spent a few moments in the ship’s communications center to talk with an astronaut he’d met at the Houston Space Center. The astronaut, a former Navy SEAL, had undertaken both deep sea dives using the newest generation of exosuits and logged many hours outside the International Space Station. The two talked at length at the similarities and differences, so Gunner had a pretty good idea of what to expect once he exited the DSC-6.
Like spacewalking, being underwater at that depth can be overwhelming at first. You are utterly alone. Certainly, there are crewmates located within the ISS or, in this instance, the DSC-6. But they aren’t by your side, floating, in a world devoid of noise, light, or human interaction. It was peaceful and disconcerting at the same time.
Gunner had spent many hours aboard submarines throughout his career in the military as well as during insertions on special ops. He’d been on board underwater submersibles as well, but nothing like the DSC-6. Once the weather had cleared and they were able to catch the Coast Guard chopper to the Sea Searcher II, Gunner spent more than an hour inspecting the underwater vessel and learning about its operation. He was one hundred percent confident in Bear and Cam’s ability to navigate the HOV around the U-boat wreckage.
He’d inspected the hull when he first approached the submersible and frowned. In a way, he had a submariner’s innate respect for the thick steel hull that protected the occupants from being crushed by the ocean when at depth. One of the Sea Searcher’s crew members noticed Gunner’s look and approached him. He patted the hull of the DSC-6 as he spoke.
“Don’t worry, sir. It’s a special composite. The latest technology has been drawn upon to make this lightweight stuff as strong as many inches of steel.”
Gunner simply nodded his head. “I’ve heard something to that effect before. I kept reminding myself of what the su
its told me before my aircraft disintegrated around me.”
“Pilot. Makes sense,” the man began. “I didn’t take you for a sub jockey.”
“Passenger only,” said Gunner, who appreciated the conversation. He pointed toward the Sea Searcher I although it was dark. The few emergency lights on the deck of the emptied ship flickered in the night. “How experienced was the other team?”
“More than you, but honestly, from what I’ve heard, that wasn’t a factor in what happened to them.”
“You don’t think it was user error, in other words.”
“Right. They were poisoned or something. I think it was just a freak accident.”
“Great,” mumbled Gunner.
The young man fell silent, and then his portable radio squawked to life.
“Tango Foxtrot Echo. Cleared to launch. Ready the crew.”
“Roger, Bridge.”
The young man got the Gray Fox team settled in, and forty minutes later, Gunner was deep in thought as he psyched himself up for the mission. His mind wandered to the task at hand. He often wondered why his team was chosen for a particular mission. None of them had ever piloted a submersible of this complexity, much less navigated it to the bottom of the world.
Soon after the Gray Fox team had been assembled and wrapped under the auspices of the Activity, Gunner went to see Dr. Brian Dowling, his psychiatrist at Eglin Air Force Base. He asked the question, “Why me?” The two simple words were not used in the way most people might think. He wasn’t morose or feeling sorry for himself. He simply wanted Dr. Dowling’s opinion as to why he was always chosen for these unusual missions.
Without trying to oversimplify his answer, Dr. Dowling summed it up succinctly. Reliability and results. Dr. Dowling had reminded Gunner at one point that he was a valuable asset, not only to the Department of Defense, but to his country. They were firmly convinced of Gunner’s love for country and commitment to responding to the call of duty. It was more than that. It was his ability to fulfill the most complex of missions put in front of him. There was no one else like him—a combination of education, skills, and experience that could be adapted to these science-based missions.
Gunner recalled spontaneously laughing at Dr. Dowling’s logical explanation. He’d quipped, “At what point do they concoct the impossible mission? The one they think I can do, but can’t.”
“Have they done it so far?” asked the crafty psychiatrist as he answered a question with a question.
Gunner had thought for a moment and then shrugged. “Come to think about it, not really.” And that included his destruction of the planet-killing asteroid IM86. He was successful in the mission assigned to him by his government. He blew the asteroid into many pieces, saving millions of lives in the process. He was also successful in the mission most important to him—come home alive.
“We’re gonna hover at fifty feet, Gunner,” announced Bear. Hearing his name brought Gunner back into the present. “I plan on taking you to the stern, where supposedly there is a gaping hole that allows you easy access to the cargo hold. We’ll hang there, monitoring the currents and water temperatures, while you go grab one of these damned silver bullets.”
Cam released her harness and turned in her seat. “Gunner, this HOV has two exosuits. Do you want me along as your wingman?”
Gunner nodded and smiled. “Nah, I’ve got this. I’m gonna slap a thirty-minute timer on this thing. If I don’t walk out of there by then, come find me.”
“Makes sense,” said Cam. “That’s about the halfway point of your initial air supply. You’ve got more time, you know. It’s just that you can’t overexert.”
“Got it. Let’s get started.”
Chapter Forty
The Wreckage of German U-boat 1226
The Puerto Rico Trench
Depth: 27,840 feet
Fathoms: 4,640
North Atlantic Ocean
Gunner exited the DSC-6 into a world of peaceful darkness. He slowly dropped to the sandy bottom of the Atlantic Ocean, using the four one-point-six horsepower thrusters to control his descent. Once his feet were firmly planted in the sand, sort of, he experimented with the fingertip controls that gave him the ability to propel himself in all directions.
His operation of the exosuit was awkward at first. He couldn’t decide if he looked like the Michelin man, the Stay Puft Marshmallow giant from Ghostbusters, or the robot from the original Lost in Space, a program he’d enjoyed watching on TV Land as a kid. Regardless, it was a different experience but one that he caught onto quickly.
After taking a few breaths, he realized the air tasted different. It was pure oxygen unlike the compressed air in a scuba tank used in conventional saturation dives. In the exosuit, Gunner was surrounded by air in an eighty-to-twenty percent ratio of nitrogen to oxygen. The atmospheric pressure was maintained at 1 atm, one atmosphere, the equivalent of a shallow-water dive of less than thirty feet. The computer-controlled pressure allowed his body to acclimate to the intense forces pressed against it by the ocean.
The fresh air filled his lungs, and Gunner felt his body respond. It wasn’t an adrenaline surge. His pulse was already racing from the excitement of exploring one of the deepest places on the planet. It was almost a euphoric feeling. Not an artificial high, but one of clarity. His mind seemed to wipe out everything but his surroundings. He could hear his heart beating. Every breath seemed like a momentous occasion. It was odd and wonderful all at the same time.
As he moved toward the stern of the U-boat, he practiced flexing his limbs and was pleased at the results. In essence, the exosuit was a human-shaped submarine with all the bells and whistles found on the DSC-6, only streamlined. Like his eye-diving experience of a week prior, he had onboard telemetry in his face shield. The oxygen was self-contained and somewhat replenishing, to a point. His power plant of lithium-ion batteries should give him more than enough time to accomplish this seemingly simple task—gather up a couple of shiny canisters and bring them up to the surface.
In an emergency situation, the life-support systems of the exosuit could keep him alive up to eighty-five hours. The beacon contained within the suit constantly transmitted a ping to the nearby submersible in case he was pulled away by the current or got lost.
The rigidity of his suit did limit his mobility, but he had no plans of doing cartwheels or handstands. The exosuit was covered in a titanium alloy skin that prevented him from being crushed, and was also rupture resistant. Resistant being the operative word, as the team on the Sea Searcher II reminded him. In other words, Gunner, try not to bounce off the rusty walls of the U-boat.
He’d gotten the hang of using his thrusters and his own joints to move forward. By swinging his arms and legs as if he were walking on the lunar surface, used in conjunction with the propulsion jets, Gunner lent the appearance of a young girl skipping along the sidewalk in a park on a sunny day. He arrived at the gaping hole in the stern of the sub within ten minutes and paused to take it all in.
He was amazed at how well preserved the U-boat was after many decades of corrosive wear on the ocean floor. He walked across the remains of the wreckage, being careful with his footing. He approached the opening and used the artificial hands, called the prosthetic prehensors in this particular exosuit, to grip the ripped-open hull in order to steady himself against the current that flowed over the sub.
Like other exosuits, this model had plier-like jaws for the left hand, which Gunner operated by squeezing handles within the suit. The right hand was different. This model, which included three operable external digits, closely resembled the thumb position, and the other four fingers taped in sets of two. It provided a more stable grip as well as the ability to curl his fingers to wrap them around an object. The coordination and dexterity allowed him to perform tasks as intricate as starting a nut on a bolt and tightening it.
All the bells and whistles aside, Gunner wished it had the ability to scratch his nose. This issue actually caused him to laugh out loud, d
rawing the first communications with Bear and Cam aboard the DSC-6.
“Hey, you doin’ all right down there, buddy?” asked Bear.
Gunner chuckled. “Yeah. My nose itches. I feel like some kind of halfwit trying to press my nose against the inside of the helmet to scratch it. The more I push my head forward, the farther away the shield goes.”
There was silence from the DSC-6 for a moment until Cam spoke into the comms. “Hey, can you give me a readout on your nitrogen-oxygen mix?”
This caused Gunner to laugh even harder. He was relaxed and feeling good. “Cam, it’s not the air mix. Everything’s fine. I’m just in a good mood, that’s all.”
“Good to hear,” she said with a hint of concern in her voice. “You know, it’s not too late for me to join you. I can suit up in—”
“Not necessary. Besides, I’m about to go in.”
Bear reminded Gunner of their radio blackout while he was in the sub. “We’ve got you five-by-five right now, but we’ll lose you once you find the cargo hold.”
“Copy that.”
“Ghost has asked us to take a lap around this thing to look for identifying marks. I guess the State Department needs to assess the find before they decide what to do with it.”
“Am I still pingin’?” Gunner asked.
“Affirmative,” replied Bear. “Regardless of your exit point, we can come to you.”
Gunner took a deep breath of the pure oxygen. “Copy that. I’m going in. See you in a few.”
