Never one to take life lightly. Lance took in this advice, yet knew it would be difficult to follow. He had always been tough on himself, even in school.
Raised by a pair of college-educated parents, he had been expected to live up to their high ideals. This included the attaining of a 4.0 grade-point average.
As it turned out, Lance had made the grade. Yet in return, he had had to sacrifice much. His one great passion had been swimming, and his high school coach had even promised him a spot on the varsity team if he’d only take the time out for practice.
Because his full schedule of studies had made such free time rare, he had reluctantly turned the coach down. This had been fine with his parents, who had promoted grades as his number-one priority.
His position on the Dean’s List had allowed him his choice of colleges. Like his father, in college he had immediately enrolled in Naval ROTC. Though this had originally been intended only to provide him with financial assistance. Lance had found himself genuinely enjoying his military studies. Since oceanography had been his minor, he had been particularly fascinated with submarines. Though his parents would have preferred that he seek a desk job, he had graduated with the full expectation of receiving his commission as a submariner.
A year later, he was plunging into the icy waters of the Pacific. Conscious of the long road that had led him there, he sighed in sudden awareness. His greatest challenge wouldn’t be in scholarship after all, but in conquering his own inner fears. Only in this way would he be able to stand on his own two feet and be a true man.
The clatter of the bathymeter began on his right, and Blackmore shifted his attention to study the pattern the instrument’s stylus was recording. The laser printer showed the outline of a jagged underwater canyon passing four hundred feet beneath them.
This subterranean valley was formed from walls approximately fifty feet high and three hundred yards apart. It would be into this void that their sonar would soon be penetrating.
A quick check of the depth gauge showed them to be under 1200 feet. It was evident that Commander Pierce was set on guiding the Marlin as close to the canyon’s floor as possible. Considering the inhospitable composition of this geological formation. Blackmore shuddered to think what would happen if they encountered any unusual turbulance. With a minimum amount of space in which to maneuver, the Marlin would be hard-pressed to survive any unexpected change of lateral course. Knowing that any sudden collision at this great depth would be instantly fatal, Blackmore attempted to wipe any such thoughts from his consciousness. Worrying about such a thing would certainly give him nothing but an ulcer.
To divert his attention, he sat forward and peered into the viewing scope. Even with the help of a pair of powerful, hull-mounted searchlights, he could pick out nothing but the black liquid void of inner space.
Yet merely being aware of the alien medium around him served to ease his nervousness, for here was the fascinating world that had always called to him.
Covering three-quarters of the planet, the oceans were man’s last frontier. Unbelievable as it may seem, man knew more about the landscape of the moon than that of the ocean’s floor. Plunging to depths over three times Mt. Everest’s height, portions of the sea were completely unexplored. Only recently had man been able to actively operate at the Marlin’s current depth. Even with this advance, this still left almost ninety-nine percent of the ocean’s floor virtually unexplored.
Lance stirred when a small jellyfish suddenly became visible in the viewing lens. This opaque marine coelenterate sported a flat, saucer-shaped body and a myriad of free-flapping tentacles. Though it was only visible for a matter of seconds, the young officer already felt more at one with the surrounding environment.
When a long, tapered squid shot beneath them, he felt almost at home. Any thoughts about the rather innocent nature of his past college studies came to an abrupt halt when the wavering sound of a returning sonar ping emanated from the speaker mounted above him. He looked up to determine just what their sound waves had detected.
With the commander’s expert assistance. Blackmore was able to determine the exact spot where the suspected object apparently lay. Beneath them, the canyon floor stretched in a ribbon of sandy silt. Yet somewhere in this flat muddy bed, at a depth of over 1800 feet below the surface, was what appeared to be a rectangular-sized, sharply edged object.
“Well, that certainly looks interesting,” observed Pierce coolly.
“What do you say about going down and taking a look close up?”
Not waiting for a response, the Marlin’s pilot began guiding the vessel downward, ever conscious that they were rapidly approaching their own depth threshold. With practiced ease, he initiated the tricky task of angling the DSRV in between the valley’s jagged walls. The job of then getting the thirty-six ton vessel to hover only a few precious feet above the canyon’s floor was not easy in itself, yet the veteran officer accomplished it with a minimum of delay. Only then did he issue a sigh of relief.
Blackmore needed no invitation to join Pierce for a look through the viewing scope. The first thing that met his eyes was the silty composition of the sea floor.
Clearly visible beneath them, the patch of muddy ocean bottom appeared as if it belonged to a huge fish less aquarium. It only began to come to life when their continued forward progress took them over a pair of bright-yellow starfish. Next, their lights illuminated a colony of sea urchins. Scattered among those spiny creatures were a number of elongated worms and dozens of tiny, darkly colored fish.
When their video camera set its lens on an advancing shelf of sharp rock. Pierce hit the Marlin’s thrusters and the vehicle jumped upward. Most aware that they had missed colliding with his object by a matter of inches, Blackmore found his pulse fluttering and his mouth dry. He had even begun to believe that this rock was the source of the suspected sonar return when he realized that the commander was once again maneuvering the Marlin downward.
He couldn’t help but feel that they would all be better off if the Marlin were headed instead in the opposite direction. The great depth and geological instability of the canyon made working there much too risky. Surely no piece of wreckage was worth losing the Marlin for. A crewless, remotely powered vehicle would be much better suited to operate in these dangerous waters. Not certain if he’d have the nerve to share his opinion with Pierce, Blackmore felt the familiar tension return. Once this took command of his nerves, he knew that he would be powerless to express himself. Deciding to fight it at all costs, Lance bent over to re-examine the viewing scope. The object his eyes locked onto there quickly brought him back to normalcy.
Beside him, Pierce had also set his startled gaze on the same object. There could be no question of its source, for protruding from the sea floor there was a torn, rectangular segment of thick silver metal, with a bright blue circle and a white, five-pointed star painted clearly on its side. Upon viewing this, he found himself smiling.
“Well, I’ll be. It looks like we’ve stumbled onto a piece of that Titan that the Razorback’s initial scan missed. We’re at least a mile from the presumed western limit of that debris field. It this guy’s for real, it could drastically change our search area. What do you say about latching onto it and bringing it topside with us?”
“It might not look like much, but that segment probably weighs quite a bit,” offered Blackmore.
“Can we handle it at this depth and all?”
“We’ll have to call in a specialist on that one,” returned Pierce.
“What do you think, Ensign Marvin, can we manage it?”
Scooting in between the two officers, Louis stretched over to peer out Pierce’s viewing scope.
“Bingo, Commander! She could prove a challenge, yet how can we resist the try?”
“That’s the type of prognosis I like to hear,” answered Pierce.
“Get back there and ready the articulated manipulator arms. Ensign. We’ll soon all know just how much muscle this little lady c
an throw around.”
A familiar knot had returned to settle in Blackmore’s stomach as he watched Marvin pull himself back into the pressure capsule. A vacant, distracted stare was on his face when a calm, deep voice sounded from his left.
“Hang in there. Lieutenant. We’ll pull this off yet.”
Meeting the probing stare of the man these words came from, Blackmore could hardly believe what he was seeing. Had a split-second of compassion actually emanated from behind that all-seeing gaze, or were his nerves merely playing tricks with him?
He’d never know for certain, for the commander soon returned his attention to the controls. Cold and efficient, he went about the job of positioning the Marlin over the piece of debris with a surgeon’s deftness. Inspired by his professionalism, the young lieutenant bent forward to assist the grizzled veteran in whatever way possible.
Chapter Nine
It was a call from Lieutenant Colonel Lansford’s office that sent Richard Fuller packing for Vandenberg’s Point Arguello dock site As he left Lompoc, the late afternoon sky was a clear blue, and it continued that way until he passed Ocean Beach Park. There the sun was in the process of being blocked out by a thick bank of advancing fog. The mist increased in density as he continued on towards the coastline. By the time he reached the Arguello dock site there were barely two feet of forward visibility.
With some difficulty, he managed to find the parking lot. Outside it was cool, moist, and strangely quiet. Beyond the hushed chop of the surf sounded the distant, mournful cry of a fog horn. Imagining what it would be like to be on the sea on an afternoon such as this one, he found it took his total effort just to find the walkway. The narrow, asphalt footpath he soon found himself on passed through a rolling section of desertlike scrub, sand, and volcanic rock.
Barely able to see immediately before him, he knew he was approaching the surf only because its characteristic sound gradually increased with each step forward. The ripe scent of its presence was thick in his nostrils and he soon spied the ghostly outline of his goal, the site’s massive corrugated-steel warehouse.
Originally designed to hold up to five of the space shuttle’s 154-foot-long, 69,000-pound external solid-rocket booster tanks, the facility currently housed an object of a much different nature.
Totally chilled by the moist fog, Fuller gratefully ducked into the warehouse’s entrance. The structure’s cavernous interior was dominated by a cathedral-like ceiling and, beneath it, an immense central work space. Brightly lit, it was presently empty except for a pair of figures standing at the room’s center. It was towards these individuals that the Nose scientist was drawn.
From his rumpled khaki uniform and full head of gray hair, Fuller was able to identify one of these men as being the commander of the DSRV Marlin. The young fellow that he was animatedly conversing with was dressed in black slacks, a white shirt, and a red tie. He carried a clipboard, and appeared to be some sort of engineer rather than a military man. Their attention was riveted on a jagged eight-and-a-half-foot-long, six-foot-wide piece of shiny metal which lay on the concrete floor before them. It wasn’t until Richard Fuller arrived at their sides that he viewed the flame-scarred blue circle and white five-pointed star that was painted on this object’s side.
“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” said Fuller somberly.
“Lieutenant Colonel Lansford mentioned that I could most probably find you down here. I see you’ve brought us up a little souvenir from the deep, Commander.”
As the Nose scientist kneeled down to examine the piece of wreckage more clearly, Will Pierce responded, “That we have. Doc. We brought it up from a depth of 1,640 feet, from the eastern tip of Arguello Canyon.”
“Ah, then you were coming in when you spotted it,” returned Fuller, who carefully ran his hand over the object’s cool metal skin.
Pierce knelt down beside him.
“Actually, we were just going out. The Razorback had to drop us off early, to play tag with a suspected Soviet Bogy.”
“You don’t say,” observed Richard thoughtfully.
“I guess that was fortunate for us. Otherwise you might have passed this piece by. I must admit that its location certainly changes our projections as to the extent of that debris field. Apparently, it extends over twice as tar as the Razorback’s preliminary scan indicated.”
“And who knows how much further west it lies,” added Pierce.
“I doubt that you’ll be encountering much more of the Titan’s remains past this point,” remarked the young man who still stood above them with his clipboard in hand. Having attracted the newcomer’s attention, he added, “Hello, I’m David Downing with McDonnell Douglas
Fuller stood to exchange handshakes.
“And I’m Dr. Richard Fuller with the Naval Oceans Systems Command. May I ask what makes you feel that we’ve hit upon the debris field’s limit?”
“Why, of course,” responded the engineer, whose eyes gleamed with intellect.
“You see, this particular piece of cowling comes from the upper section of the Titan. It’s placed where the missile’s two solid-rocket boosters attach onto the second stage. My company manufactures the Titan’s payload fairing that sits directly above this portion. Since the rocket failed while arcing up over the Pacific, this piece of debris should indicate that the nose cone lies nearby. This means that the remainder of the wreckage would most probably be found in a rough line extending toward the shore.”
“That makes sense to me,” added Pierce, who stood stiffly to join them.
“Let’s just hope that the payload is indeed close by. Arguello Canyon drops off sharply west of the spot where we picked this guy up.
And I don’t have to remind you how unforgiving that valley’s walls can be.”
“Then I guess that’s where you’ll be returning to continue your search,” said Fuller.
Suddenly conscious of the time. Pierce checked his watch.
“Right on. Doc. The Department of Defense isn’t going to rest easy until we snag that precious payload. So, to make certain that the Marlin is ready to go at first light, I’d better get back to the dock.”
“Take care in this fog and all,” said Richard.
The grizzled commander was already pivoting to exit as he answered, “When you’re diving down over 1,600 feet, into a volcanic canyon whose floor isn’t even as wide as three football fields, this fog is the least of our problems.”
Both men looked on as the veteran Naval officer crisply exited. As the door echoed shut behind him, Richard Fuller returned his attention to the piece of debris that lay before him.
“Any guesses as to why this baby failed, Mr.
Downing? ” The engineer shifted his weight uneasily.
“Our first suspicion was that it was caused by an explosion in one of the two solid-rocket motors. Yet now, I’m not so sure. You see, if that were the case, this piece of cowling would have been totally disintegrated.”
Taking in this observation, Richard once again knelt down to closely examine the scarred metallic skin of rocket cowling. As he did so, the young engineer added, “I’m afraid that I’m going to have to be off myself. Doctor. I’ve got to get down to the Santa Barbara airport to meet a planeload of McDonnell bigwigs flying in from St. Louis. And with this fog, who knows how long that drive could take.”
Absentmindedly nodding goodbye, the Nose scientist kept his attention locked on the piece of jagged debris. Hardly aware that the engineer had left, Fuller used his hand to trace a somewhat familiar pattern of indentations imbedded above the star’s upper point. About the size of a series of shotgun pellets, the circular pattern was formed by over a dozen separate dents. Not having struck with enough force to actually pierce the thick steel skin, they were nevertheless the aftereffect of a fairly strong concussion.
After racking his brain unsuccessfully to remember where he had seen such a pattern last. Fuller knew it would come to him eventually. At the moment, he had another priority. For, if he didn’t
get going shortly himself, he’d surely be late for that afternoon’s appointment with Lieutenant Colonel Lansford.
Anxious to share with him Commander Pierce’s revelation as to the position of the cowling when it was exhumed, the scientist stood and made his own way out of the massive storage facility.
Doing his best to ignore the dense fog that awaited him outside. Fuller arrived at his car and began the short, yet demanding drive to base headquarters. The extreme atmospheric conditions forced him to focus his attention solely on his driving, and the trip down Coast Road was cautious and slow. His nerves were frayed by the time he eventually pulled up to the brick building that housed the Space and Missile Test Organization. After passing security, he made his way up three flights of steps and turned to the second office on his left.
The stocky, redheaded figure of Master Sergeant Vince Sprawlings greeted him inside.
“Good afternoon, Dr. Fuller. Did you have any problems finding us in this pea-soup fog?”
“At least I have an excuse for being late,” said Richard.
The master sergeant’s mouth turned in a boyish grin.
“There’s no worry about that. Doctor. We’ve been playing catch-up since early this morning. In fact, the Chief is currently on the horn with Washington right now. He said to show you in as soon as you arrived.”
Motioning that he could handle this task himself, Richard entered the doors to Lansford’s inner office.
The atmosphere inside was noticeably tense. The Lieutenant Colonel sat solemnly behind his desk, the phone cradled beside his earlobe. It was evident that he was not the one who had initiated this call, for his responses were brief and monosyllabic. His usually neat desk was littered with scattered documents, and he distractedly beckoned his guest to have a seat.
Fuller silently passed up this offer, and instead walked over to the map of Vandenberg and its environs that was hung on the far wall. His eyes went to the elongated pattern of red flags that were set in the ocean, approximately seven miles from the shoreline.
Flight of the Condor Page 19
