***
The airlock was little more than a room with a grated floor and a hatch such as one would find on a submarine. On the floor were seven underwater propulsion vehicles, or UPVs for short. They were little more than a thin bed to lay in with foot rests, dashboard with a windshield, a propulsion lever and a joystick. The dashboard had a night vision view of what was in front of the UPV, a GPS radar screen, fuel and power readouts, and a radio. The craft was powerful enough to carry one person, a reasonable amount of gear, and travel through the water at a respectable speed. It didn’t possess a cockpit, so it forced a pilot to use his own breathing device. I was extremely familiar with the small craft, but the rest of the crew had rarely had the opportunity to even work with flippers, something every diver should be competent with anyway.
McDougal ordered me to give the team a quick briefing on the crafts since I was the most familiar with them. I went over the basics: throttle and directional controls, dashboard equipment, as well as to remind them that they should keep their legs firmly secured in the foot rests.
Only Santino had a question. “Phasers?”
I shook my head and tried not to laugh.
Any eight year old could control the small submersibles. The controls were designed like any video game controller and as long as the user stayed on the bed, feet secured, they wouldn’t float away. Even if they did manage to separate from the sub, the controls had an automatic shut off if separated from the pilot. All it would take was a quick swim back.
After I finished my quick briefing, the team spread out amongst the UPVs, McDougal in the center flanked by Wang and Bordeaux, Santino and Vincent on the left, and Helena and myself on the right. After we were situated, the room automatically filled with water and the team was left floating within. I looked through my goggles to make sure Helena wasn’t freaking out or anything, but thankfully she seemed fine. Noticing my inspection, she turned and gave me a thumbs up. Her face was masked by her goggles, and as we were unable to communicate via our radios, I couldn’t tell if she was truly all right, but I suspected she was tough enough to handle it.
She’d be fine.
McDougal pressed a button on his dashboard and the double doors in front of us cracked open. Beyond them was nothing but blackness, no plant or aquatic life visible. I knew ancient sewer systems had been discovered by modern archeologists over the year and could be used as a means to navigate the ancient city beneath the modern one. They were also pretty disgusting, steeping for millennia, a breeding ground for hundreds of kinds of bacteria and diseases.
McDougal gunned his UPV and the team smoothly exited the room into the murky water. Our headlights only penetrated a few feet into the darkness, forcing us to rely on our GPS. It provided us with waypoints laid out on a rudimentary topographical map, connected by lines already programmed in the system. Our progress was slow going though not through any lack of skill on our part, but simply because we were new to the terrain.
About fifteen minutes into the trip, we came to a solid wall, but our waypoints clearly indicated we needed to go through the blockade. McDougal held up his fist, indicating for us to hold our position. He manipulated another switch on his dashboard, and I began to hear a steady whirring noise and could see the water clearing. I glanced behind me and noticed a wall was blocking the way we had just come through. McDougal must have activated some kind of system that filtered the water in the sewer.
A few seconds later, I saw the water clearing noticeably before the doors opened before us. McDougal motioned forward, and the team gunned their engines, making a quick right turn into a narrow passageway to follow the Vatican’s artificial corridor straight to the Tyrrhenian Sea.
It took us another forty-five minutes before we left the coastline and came face to face with a lumbering, whale shaped behemoth that would become our ride.
My earpiece crackled to life as McDougal contacted the submarine using his radio’s push-to-talk button to transmit a quick burst of Morse Code. The Navy still taught the archaic form of communication developed in the 1840s, and most Special Forces outfits learned it as well. Quickly squeezing a radio’s PTT button transmits a sharp burst of static, which makes for a perfect way to send the code.
I heard a return transmission that indicated the sub was ready for our arrival, and saw McDougal point in my direction. I sent him an okay sign with my hand, and made my way to the gigantic vessel, Helena right behind me.
Boarding a submarine in nothing but a wetsuit wasn’t a challenge for a seasoned Navy SEAL, but could be potentially lethal for an amateur. Had I been in a submarine of my own, and not alone in a wetsuit, a docking collar would be used to attach the two subs together. The collar would pressurize, and coming aboard would be as simple as opening both hatches and crossing the threshold.
To a achieve my task, however, I would need to turn the wheel on the hatch, climb down a ladder till I reach a second hatch, close the first one, wait for the water to recede in the little airlock, open the second hatch, and climb down into the submarine.
It sounded easy in principle, but it was far more complicated than it sounds.
The first step was to secure my UPV in one of the submarine’s external storage lockers. I found it easily, already open, and astern of the hatch. Piloting it into the locker, I abandoned my small craft, secured my gear bags to a carabineer attached to my wetsuit, and approached the wheel I would need to turn in order to open the hatch. I signaled for Helena to hang back. There was no sense in risking a possible accident when I could easily perform the operation by myself and in my sleep.
I began by firmly grasping the wheel, and reciting the age old “lefty loosy, righty tighty” mantra everyone utters before turning something. Next, I planted my feet on the hull, squeezing the slight lip that juts up encasing the hatch. Slowly and surely, I turned the wheel to the left, thankful when it offered little resistance.
After a dozen or so turns, the hatch popped open with a slight sputter of bubbles. The small antechamber would have been filled upon our arrival to ensure the hatch didn’t explosively decompress, probably killing me. I signaled for Helena to swim in first.
Following her in, I pulled my gear bags in behind me, and shut the hatch. The space in the cylindrical airlock was cramped and tight, forcing us to float chest to chest, inches apart. I grasped the ladder with my right hand and right foot, while Helena mirrored my position. With my left hand, I grabbed a crowbar from its resting place and pounded the inner hatch three times, and waited until the water started to slowly drain from the compartment.
As the water passed my face, I pulled back my hood and removed my goggles and breathing apparatus as Helena did the same.
“Tight squeeze,” I said, adjusting my position, accidentally bumping my elbow against her breasts.
She glared and I looked around, trying to ignore her while also trying to find any way to make the water go faster. Failing, we endured a few more moments of uncomfortable silence before the inner hatch finally opened.
“After you,” I offered.
Helena gave me a smirk before descending a few steps, lowering her gear to the deck, and dropping behind it. I followed quickly.
I landed in a crouch, stood and moved aside to let Helena close the inner hatch while I keyed my radio. In order to stay efficient and silent on the battlefield, instead of speaking into the radio to confirm orders, or signal an all clear, we simply clicked the PTT button twice in quick succession, an efficient way to indicate all was well on the other end of the radio. The double click could mean many things depending on the situation, but McDougal would understand that I had sent it as an all clear to send in the next pair.
After sending the transmission, I turned to face the two seamen emerging from the hatch to my left. The pair wore British naval uniforms, midshipmen according to their rank insignias, and had the look of men who spent way too much time under the water. Noticing my inspection, the pa
ir halted and saluted.
“Welcome aboard the H.M.S Triumph, Lieutenant.”
I returned the salute. “Thanks for the warm welcome.”
After securing the hatch, Helena turned and stood next to me.
The pair’s immediate reaction was to salute a second time, but with obvious hesitation. These men probably hadn’t seen a woman in months, especially not one that looked like Helena, who was looking especially radiant with her damp hair and face.
“Welcome aboard the Triumph, Ma’am.”
“Thank you,” she replied.
“Our orders are to escort you to the briefing room after your team has had an opportunity to change out of your wetsuits and secure your gear. If you will just follow the corridor beyond the hatch we just came through, the second door on your right will be your staging area. You can head there now if you’d like.”
“Thank you,” I replied as I gestured to the hatch for Helena to go through first. “Lieutenant, after you.”
She offered me a cynical smile and bumped me playfully on her way to the hatch. The two midshipmen watched, tilting their heads to watch as she bent at the waist to fit through. I had to chuckle as I watched as well, a slight feeling of possessive pride passing over me. It reminded me of a time back in college when I attended a party with a foreign exchange student from France. She had been beautiful, and every guy there hated my guts because of it.
My arms crossed against my chest, I glanced over at the two seamen who looked at me with jealousy in their eyes, the silent one of the two arching an eyebrow suggestively. I let out a quick laugh before placing a hand on the inquisitive man’s shoulder.
“I wouldn’t go there, my friend,” I told him, pointing at my black eye. “Trust me.”
Whether he thought I was threatening him or merely reaffirming his fears that he had no chance, his shoulders slumped in defeat.
Releasing his shoulder, I followed after Helena.
Halfway through, I heard the inner hatch open and two men drop to the floor.
“Welcome aboard the…”
The man didn’t get a chance to continue before Santino cut him off. “Yeah, yeah, now where’s this ‘tea’ I’ve heard so much about?”
The Last Roman (The Praetorian Series - Book I) Page 22
