by John Blaine
But helium is the lightest gas of all, and permits the vocal cords to operate much more rapidly.The faster the vibration, the higher the pitch. So, as Rick explained, the tankful of mixed gas had made Barby sound like a soprano mouse.
“We’ll all sound that way when we start breathing the mixture,” he concluded. “Now, I’ll describe the dive plan while we get into harnesses. Watch the weight, girls. These tanks are much heavier than you’re used to.”
He held Jan’s tank while she slipped her arms through the harness and adjusted the straps to fit. Scotty helped Barby, then the boys helped each other and Dick. Weight belts followed. All had put on knives, gauges, watches, and life vests on the way to the wreck.
Dick opened the box he had brought and distributed the experimental communications devices. He showed the girls how to hang the gadgets around their necks so they’d be within reach, then gave instructions. “Take a good lungful of air, then remove your regulator mouthpiece and hold it in your right hand. Use your left to press the communicator over your mouths so you get a good air seal. Blow the water out and talk. Use short words, talk slowly and as distinctly as you can.”
“There’s no electronic circuitry at all,” Jan observed. She had been examining her communicator carefully. “They’re just mechanical gadgets. The voice vibrates the membrane, which transmits the impulses through the water. I don’t see how they can be very efficient, Dick.”
“They’re not,” the pilot agreed. “By experimenting with the kind of membrane that would be most effective, its dimensions and shape, and the size and shape of the resonating chamber, we’ve produced about the most efficient combination we can, but as you say, it’s all mechanical. So what we have is a pretty good, very inexpensive gadget that’s a whole lot better than no communication except banging a tank. I think you’ll be surprised at how well they work, especially at short distances.”
“We’ll try them as soon as we’re in the water,” Rick said. “Now, here’s the dive plan. We go down together, all the way. After ten minutes, Barby goes to the 150-foot safety marker and stays there as safety man until Jan relieves her after another ten minutes. Barby rejoins us on the wreck. We stay down ten minutes more. For the first ten minutes, we all stay together. I’ll take left flank, and Dick right flank, and both of us keep an eye on those in the middle.When Barby goes up to safety position, Jan and I buddy up, and Dick and Scotty. When Jan relieves Barby, she comes down and joins me at the bottom of the buoy line. Dick, what’s the decompression time?”
“Two minutes at 30 feet, three minutes at 20 feet, and four minutes at 10 feet. Take three minutes to ascend to 30 feet.”
“Okay.Any questions?” There were none. “Good. Into the water, then, and assemble at the buoy.”
The boat rode at anchor on the buoy, which was directly below the bow. Scotty was first into the water, Page 38
followed by Barby and Dick. Rick paused for a look around while Jan was adjusting a fin. There was smoke on the horizon to the north, and a large ship was passing several miles to the east. He could barely make it out. The diver’s flag fluttered from the masthead, and all was secure. The sea was quiet, not even a whitecap showing.
Jan was waiting for him at the open section of rail above the swimming ladder. She said softly, “Thanks for bringing us, Rick. And I know why you’re sending Barby and me up to the safety position when you don’t really need a safety man. It’s to keep us from getting too tired.”
Rick grinned at her. “Sometimes you’re too smart for my own good.”
Jan winked and stepped into the water. Rick joined her and they finned to the buoy. Dive Two had begun!
CHAPTER X
On the Wreck
Scotty led the way down the buoy line, and by previous understanding with Rick, stopped at the 20-foot marker. The five clustered around the line, and Rick took his communicator in his left hand, breathed deeply, removed the mouthpiece with his right and clapped the communicator over his mouth. He blew, and water jetted out of the duckbill valve, leaving the chamber over his lips clear.
“Testing,” he announced. “How do you read me?”His voice, high-pitched and reedy from the helium and amplified in the little chamber, sounded so funny that he laughed, broke the seal on the communicator, and gulped a mouthful of sea water. Instantly his trained reflexes took over. His throat muscles tensed, locking his air passage. He swallowed the sea water, stuck his mouthpiece back in, pushed the purge button that cleared it of water, then took a deep breath.
Dick’s voice sounded in his ears. The pilot had the communicator over his mouth. “I heard you loud and clear and funny, Rick. But laughing is dangerous.”
Rick had recovered after a couple of breaths. He inhaled again and exchanged mouthpiece for communicator. “You’re right, Dick. Laughing is dangerous. But the helium actually makes the gadgets work better because it makes the sound higher.”
Scotty tried it. He didn’t sound like Scotty, but his words were clear as he said, “The thing works fine.”
Jan put her gadget in place. “Just don’t take a breath between sentences.” She sounded like a record played too fast.
“I hear you all fine,” Barby contributed.
Rick had been watching closely as each tried the gadget. He was satisfied. The girls handled the exchange of air supply and communicator easily, without fumbling. He tapped Scotty and gave the thumbs-down signal to go deeper.
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Scotty nodded and led the way, followed by Barby, Dick, and Jan. Rick brought up the rear where he could keep an eye on all of them. In each group dive one person must be in charge, and he was the divemaster . He felt the responsibility keenly.
The water was much clearer today, and visibility was excellent. He watched the colors change as they went deeper. Before him, Jan’s suit darkened from bright red to black as the water filtered out the reds and yellows of the color spectrum. Scotty paused at 50 feet to give everyone a chance to equalize the pressure in their ears if need be. No one held their noses through the mask nose inserts to blow their ears clear, so Rick knew that everyone was handling the increasing pressure without problem. Scotty continued down into deepening gloom.
The drill-rig tower loomed through the rising air bubbles. Then they were on the rig’s tilted deck. Rick looked at his watch and noted the time, then checked his depth gauge. The rig hadn’t moved any deeper.
Depth was still a bit less than 200 feet.
The five stood on the deck and looked around. Suddenly Jan gave a little jump. Rick looked down in time to see an eel slither rapidly away. It had been under the pipe rack next to Jan. He thought that not many days would elapse before all kinds of sea life took up habitations on the wreck.
He pointed. The group fanned out into a line with Rick on one end and Dick Antell on the other, and they finned slowly across the sunken rig toward the high bulk of the deckhouse.
Scotty tried the door. The knob turned, and he pulled it open. He went in, Barby following. Jan looked at Rick for permission, and he nodded. The girl went in, too, with Dick following. Rick paused in the doorway, where he could keep an eye on all hands. He could see his friends poking around, but he doubted that they would find much of interest. He had been down on many wrecks off the coast, usually lobster hunting. Few of them contained anything of immediate value. It would be necessary to salvage their cargo to find any real treasure.
He soon discovered that treasure was strictly in the eye of the beholder. Jan and Barby had gotten together and were consulting by signals. He watched, grinning to himself, as Barby unsheathed her knife and sliced a piece of cord from a Venetian blind. Then she and Jan methodically collected ten-cent-variety-store coffee mugs, the heavy kind, and strung them on the cord. They found six, which Barby tied to her weight belt. Then the two girls collected saucers to match, and Jan set the example by putting the saucers around her slim waist, under the weight belt.
There wasn’t much light in the cabin, but Scotty was going through a stack of papers he
had found on a table. Dick was just watching, as Rick was.
Rick glanced at his watch. It was time. Ten minutes had gone by quickly. He moved to his sister’s side and beckoned. She nodded, and followed as he led the way out onto the deck and to the buoy line. He watched as she went up 50 feet to the first safety position, the coffee mugs dangling from her waist like the greatest treasure of theCaribbean . He knew how she and Jan felt. The mugs had no value except as souvenirs, but as souvenirs they would be prized and used, as relics of the girls’ first deep dive. He decided that he and Scotty would take them “bug hunting,” as lobster dives were called, on wrecks more interesting than this one. He could see Barby silhouetted against the light from above, and far beyond her he could even see the dark blotch of the boat hull. Visibility was unusually good. Satisfied, he finned back to the deckhouse.
Jan was waiting for him with Scotty and Dick. Dick switched to his communicator and said, “Second Page 40
deck may be more to see. Rig controls there. We go look?”
Rick gestured for Dick to lead, then he and Jan fell in behind the pilot and Scotty, swimming close together. Dick led the way over the deck’s edge and down a girder. The light was poor, and Rick wished he had brought lights. Next time he would. He would bring his camera, too. The wreck had to be examined closely if they were to solve the mystery of why it had gone down.
He and Jan followed the two leaders into the gloom of the second deck, then paused. He could see a huge cylinder close at hand.One of the buoyancy tanks. He thought he heard, and almost felt, a pulsating in the water, and stayed still to listen. He saw that Jan was listening, too. There must be a boat of some kind nearby, and possibly a big one. No matter. It wouldn’t attempt to hit the Spindrift boat. Not even the most stupid skipper could avoid seeing that.
The deck was a clutter of equipment. He took Jan’s gloved hand in his. He wouldn’t risk losing her among the debris. They moved slowly after Scotty and Dick, passing over a huge winch wound with hundreds of yards of heavy cable.
His name echoed faintly in his ears, high-pitched but recognizable.Then Scotty’s name. “Quick! Sharks!
Come quick!”
Instantly Rick turned, holding tight to Jan. He finned as fast as he could toward the light and open water.
Once clear, he looked upward.
Barby’s slim figure clung to the buoy line. Above her, milling and circling, were the torpedo shapes of sharks. Big ones! He counted seven, then, as he watched, another four arrived!
Jan detached her hand from his and shot upward toward Barby. Rick turned to check on Scotty and Dick. They were close behind. He gave the thumbs-up signal and followed in the wake of Jan’s fast-moving fins.
This was real trouble, he thought. The sharks were between them and the boat. They were trapped!
CHAPTER XI
The Blue Menace
It was difficult to estimate the actual depth of the shark pack, but Rick thought they were probably between 30 feet and the surface. He wondered what had brought them, and in the same moment realized that a large boat was barely visible as a dark shadow on the water at the distant edge of visibility. Had the fools dumped garbage overboard in the vicinity of a diver’s flag?
He knew that sharks often followed ships, just to collect the garbage jettisoned a couple of times each day, and he couldn’t think of any other solution. It didn’t matter, anyway. The sharks were about.
Somehow they had to get into their boat.
He put his communicator in place. “We go up to 100 feet. Slow. Do not get close to each other. We Page 41
should not bang tanks or make strange noise. Sharks are curious. I lead. Scotty last.”
The five strung out on the buoy line. Rick finned upward, keeping an eye on the sharks. He saw that they came and went. The area directly overhead was not the focus of their attention; that was beyond, out of sight. He hoped whatever it was would go away.
At the 100-foot marker he stopped, while the others clustered around him. The distance to the sharks was still considerable; he could see that the animals were close to the surface. He debated the next move, then took a deep breath and switched to his communicator.
“Dick, you stay with girls just in case. Scottycome with me.”
Jan swiftly changed to her communicator. “What are you going to do?”
Rick had returned to his mouthpiece. He changed back. “Go to the 50-foot level and see. Don’t worry.”
With Scotty close behind him he moved up the buoy line. As the distance to the sharks lessened he could see their white bellies and pointed snouts.Then, as one rolled, he saw the deep, indigo blue of its back. As he had suspected, they were blues.
Swiftly he reviewed everything he knew about the Great Blue shark, also called Blue Pointer. He didn’t like any of what he remembered. He had killed a baby blue once with his powerhead when it had hung around almost beyond air reserve limits while he and Scotty were lobster hunting. The baby was about eight feet long. The adults ranged from twelve to fifteen feet in length, and the blues above were all adults.
There were not many records of attacks on people by the blues, but that was because most shark attacks took place near shore and on bathing beaches. The big blues roamed the high seas, and they were plentiful inNorth Atlantic waters. He had read old whaling stories about how blue sharks continued feeding on a whale carcass even after they had been cut almost in half by keen, pole-handled blubber knives. They were not particular about their food, either. When in a feeding frenzy, after garbage tossed over by a ship, they had been seen to consume chunks of wood, old boots, tin cans, and anything else dropped into the water.
As they neared the 50-foot level, he could see the sharks more clearly. There was no mistaking them.
The pectoral fins were unusually long, and their bodies were slender and perfectly streamlined.
He stopped at the 50-foot loop, and Scotty joined him. The husky ex-Marine shook his head. They had a real problem. Unless the sharks went away before their air ran out, they’d have to go right through the pack to get to the boat.
Rick watched one engulf a piece of something, and knew the sharks were feeding.But on what? They weren’t in a feeding frenzy, competing, slashing at each other. Instead, they were cruising like living torpedoes, picking up a bit here and there. He estimated their average depth as 20 feet.
While he watched the sharks, he went over the information in his head. With the big tanks under high pressure, they could stay down for over an hour at a good depth. But the longer they stayed deep, the longer the decompression time. If they remained at the 50-foot depth, their air time was greater, and decompression less. He knew the decompression tables for normal air. They could spend two hours at 50 feet, and need only five minutes decompression at 10 feet. With the helium-nitrogen-oxygen mixture, they probably had at least two hours at the shallow depth. Even the standard tank would be good for nearly forty minutes at that depth.
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But with time came another problem. Even the best breathing apparatus requires an effort by the diver, and the relentless pressure of the water tires chest muscles and diaphragm. There would come a time when the girls were simply too tired to breathe properly, and not long after, Scotty, Dick, and he would be in the same shape.
Unless the sharks went into a wild feeding frenzy, Rick knew the five could probably move up through the pack without too much danger. He had studied the attack patterns of sharks, including the remarkable pictures of sharks feeding made by Peter Gimbel of New York, featuring the big blues, and by Al Tillman and Dewey Bergman of California, featuring grays, white tips, and black tips. The blues started the pattern with slow, probing runs, gradually increasing in tempo until they tried the first bite. It took a little time to build up to the bite stage when they were attacking a good-sized animal that might bite back.
There was also a strong possibility that if a feeding frenzy started because of more food dumped into the sea, being at 50 feet wouldn’t help
. The sharks would attack anything in sight with straight rushes, not following the slow pattern of probing. A feeding frenzy, Rick knew, was a kind of group insanity. The sharks would attack each other and anything else in the water.
Scotty tapped his arm and pointed. The ship hull was clearly visible now, and most of the sharks were near the ship. Rick could see bubbles as something plummeted into the water. A big blue grabbed it and swallowed, then writhed, rolling and twisting. Slowly, relentlessly, the blue was hauled to the surface-and then through it into the air. The boys looked at each other, horrified.
The boat was fishing for sharks, only yards from their boat!
He motioned down, and he and Scotty went back along the line to where Dick and the girls waited.
Rick filled his lungs and switched to his communicator. “Boat fishing sharks. It could get worse. I think we better go up.”
Dick Antell spoke. “Decompress one minute at 30, but need two minutes at 10. Not down long.”
Rick nodded. That was some help. He had gone over their alternatives while coming down the line. They could swim toward land to get away from the shark area, but that would mean surfacing without a boat, and getting pretty exhausted. Also, there was no assurance the sharks wouldn’t be around when they surfaced. They could stay at the 50-foot level for a while and see what happened before moving. The latter had been his choice until he neared the 100-foot level. Then he had noticed that Jan and Barby had increased their breathing rate. That meant that they were using up air faster, and also tiring faster.
He knew why. The girls were naturally apprehensive. So was he, and he knew Dick and Scotty were, too. But all three of them had encountered sharks before and were more confident of getting through.
The girls remained steady and cool, not losing their nerve, but their apprehension was causing a physical reaction that they couldn’t control.
Rick moved in between the girls, put an arm around each and gave them a reassuring squeeze. Then he released them and used his communicator again. “Sharks make runs. Don’t worry. Keep nerve. We handle.”
