Flight of the Condor

by Richard P. Henrick

  The stroke of noon found Richard Fuller emerging onto the plateau that formed the summit of the canyon located immediately south of Ocean Beach Park. There the Nose researcher set his eyes on the back of Miriam Rodgera, who sat on the lip of the rock ledge, her gaze locked on the sea beyond. Without revealing his presence, Richard anxiously scanned the southern horizon.

  The sky was a deep, clear blue, the fog having long ago lifted, and he was afforded an excellent view of mountainous Tranquillon Ridge and the hills that surrounded it. Checking his wristwatch, he wondered what was keeping the Condor from lifting off as scheduled. Since this vantage point would offer them an excellent view of the launch itself, it was most evident that there had been some sort of delay. Could it have been caused by something that the Razorback had chanced upon, while plunging beneath the seas off the coastline? Having no way to find out if this was indeed the case, Richard continued on to the summit’s western edge.

  “Good afternoon,” he greeted.

  “I hope I’m not disturbing you.”

  Surprised by this voice, Miriam turned around and spotted her visitor only a few steps away. With that, a warm smile turned the corners of her mouth.

  “Well, look what the wind blew in,” she answered.

  “To what do I owe this honor?”

  Halting at her side, Richard crouched down and kissed her on the lips.

  “To tell you the truth, I could think of no place I’d rather be than with you at the moment.”

  Catching a bit of weariness in his tone and expression, Miriam cautiously prohed.

  “Is everything all right, Richard? You look beat.”

  Calmed by her concern, the Nose researcher sighed.

  “I guessed I didn’t sleep much last night. It’s the same old frustrating story again, Richard Fuller against the Establishment. You know, things haven’t changed that much since college after all.”

  After kissing Miriam once more on her lips, he sat down beside her and angled his glance westward.

  Taking in the view of the wide, sloping beach and the frothing surf beyond, he added, “Lord, is this a gorgeous day!”

  Miriam followed the direction of his stare.

  “I’ll say.

  Since we’ve been in Vandenberg, this morning has topped them all. I can’t believe this visibility.”

  “It’s as if that tidal wave washed away all the fog,” reflected Richard, who noticed that Miriam had a notebook and pen on her lap.

  “I hope I’m not keeping you from your work. Joseph told me I’d find you up here.”

  Miriam set the notebook down on the ground beside her.

  “I was only making some entries in my journal. It was nothing earth-shattering. How are the kids doing down there, anyway?”

  “The last I saw of them, they were digging away at the base of the canyon. That’s a mighty spirited group you’ve got down there, Madame Professor. How do you keep them so motivated?”

  Miriam grinned.

  “Actually, they do most of it themselves. That’s one thing about the kids today.

  When they want something bad enough, they go after it with everything they’ve got. Not even the U.S. Air Force could keep them away from this dig.”

  Richard once again checked his watch.

  “Speaking of the devil, did you know that the space shuttle was due to be launched five minutes ago? I kind of thought you and I would have the best seat in town.”

  “As always, that’s news for me,” returned the archaeologist.

  “I didn’t think we were supposed to be seeing a shuttle flight for at least another year.”

  “Neither did I,” reflected Richard, who suddenly remembered a fact that he wanted to share with his lover.

  “By the way, there might be some sort of archaeological find awaiting you on the sea floor several miles off the coast here. I recently heard that one of the vessels that is searching for the debris of that downed Titan chanced upon some kind of stone monument that appears to be manmade and of great age-Genuinely interested in this revelation, Miriam abruptly turned towards him.

  “Exactly where was this formation spotted?”

  Most aware that he had her curiosity aroused, Richard pointed out to sea.

  “That’s the weird part.

  The vessel was at least fifteen miles off the coast, directly west of here, when they came upon it, at a depth of over two thousand feet below sea level.”

  “That’s incredible,” commented the archaeologist.

  “It sounds to me as if it could be some sort of submerged land mass that was possibly pulled down by an earthquake. You know, the Chumash had a legend that told of an island that was said to be located directly west of Point Arguello. Its name was Similaqsa, and it was known as the portal of the dead.

  “If this formation is indeed of Chumash origin, we might have an amazing discovery on our hands.

  When’s the soonest that you can introduce me to the men who made this initial find?”

  Richard was just about to answer when his attention was diverted by a clearly audible, throaty roar that sounded in the distance. Immediately aware of what this signaled, he redirected his line of sight towards the south. There, against a crystal-clear backdrop of rolling green hills and deep blue sky, the shuttle was just visible, on its way towards the heavens.

  “It’s the Condor!” exclaimed the Nose researcher, whose pulse quickened at the magnificent sight.

  Close at his side, Miriam also viewed the ascending spaceship. She found herself thrilled as the roar of its boosters rose to an almost deafening pitch. The very ground beneath them seemed to vibrate in response.

  Both figures were speechless as the tips of the boosters became visible. Belching fire and smoke, the mighty engines reverberated with a thrust of over 6 million pounds. As the rocket continued upward, the orbiter itself could be clearly seen. The white skinned delta-winged vehicle, which was about the size of a DC-9 jetliner, lay gripped onto the rust colored main engine. Attached to each side of this central structure were the two detachable, solid-rocket boosters. Clear from the flames themselves, the black-nosed orbiter slowly began to rotate.

  Watching as it began arcing up over the ocean, Richard restrained his innocent awe with a single realization. If his theory held true, this would be the most critical phase of the flight. Hastily, he scanned the surrounding seas, in a vain effort to locate any possible adversary. Yet, much to his relief, only the ever-surging waters were visible.

  The Condor continued climbing, and soon was but a tiny speck high in the cloudless sky. Thankful that his supposition was apparently a foolish one after all, he reached out for the thin, inviting waist of the woman who sat at his side. Pulling her towards him affectionately, he felt her warmth and his tenseness instantly dissipated.

  “It looks like they made it,” said Miriam, who reciprocated with a hug of her own. Feeling his need, she was in the process of turning her lips up to meet his when a high-pitched, crackling male voice was suddenly heard.

  “Miss Rodgers, you’ve got to come down at once!

  Joseph has found some sort of sealed cavern dug into the base of the canyon!”

  The spell was broken, and Miriam turned to identify the source of this news. Behind them, the tall, lanky figure of Mick Thompson was just emerging onto the plateau. Clearly out of breath, with his thin body soaked in sweat, the student had obviously run all the way up the trail that led there. Richard caught her puzzled glance and playfully winked in response.

  Both of them then stood, and began their way toward the path that would take them back down to the floor of the valley.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Five hundred and forty feet below the Pacific, the DSRV Marlin cautiously approached the remains of the submarine taken out by the Razorback’s torpedo.

  Located five and half miles due west of Point Arguello, the Marlin was guided by its usual three-man complement.

  Lieutenant Lance Blackmore sat in the copilot’s posi
tion, his gaze locked on the DSRV’s active sonar.

  Beside him sat Commander Will Pierce, whose hands tightly grasped the airplane-like steering column.

  Crouched behind the two officers. Ensign Louis Marvin scanned the controls, in a vigilant effort to make certain that all systems were operating properly.

  The hollow ping of a sonar return resonated over the Marlin’s PA. system, and Blackmore reached over to determine the exact distance between the source of this return and their own bow. Familiar now with the DSRV’s systems, the young lieutenant determined that a mere 400 yards of water separated them from the crippled submarine.

  Because they had been nearby when this vessel was hit, they had been able to monitor the entire attack sequence. Blackmore would never forget the sounds of the approaching torpedoes. For a tense moment, he had even feared that the Mk-48’s were being aimed at them. Yet they had streamed by the Marlin and, eventually, one of them had made contact.

  And to think that he had thought DSRV duty was going to be dull! Since he had been deployed on the Marlin, the action had been almost non-stop. First there had been the rescue off the coast of Kauai. This had been followed by their surprise flight to Vandenberg, the arrival of the tidal wave, and then the recovery of the Titan’s nose cone. And now to witness actual undersea combat! This was the Navy that Lance had always dreamed of serving.

  He had found himself excited when Commander Pierce had relayed his decision to temporarily halt their present debris search. The grizzled veteran couldn’t resist taking a closer look at the vessel that had incurred the Razorback’s wrath.

  Blackmore was finally beginning to have a genuine liking for the beard-stub bled veteran. He was unlike any man he had ever met before. Direct and to the point, Pierce held back no punches. If he didn’t like you, he’d tell you right to your face. Yet if he saw even a hint of promise in your make-up, he’d be the first to give you a chance to prove what you were made of. This was how he had allowed Lance to come of age.

  Only a few days had passed since Blackmore was standing on the deck of the tender Pelican, feeling sorry for himself. How much he had learned about life since then! He could place the blame for this newfound maturity squarely on the back of a single individual.

  Though the commander certainly had his faults, when it came down to basics, there was no one Lance would rather have responsible for his life than Pierce.

  His technical expertise couldn’t be questioned. He knew the Marlin inside out. Utilizing it as a mere extension of his own self, he knew just how far he could push the vessel. Time after time he had shown what kind of stuff he was made of whenever duty called. Yet throughout it all he had remained a human being. This point had struck home the morning the tidal wave had almost swept them to their deaths. Plunging into the icy depths without any hydraulic control, Lance had thought that he would be the only one to show his fear. Yet when the lights had suddenly flashed on, even Pierce’s face had been contorted with terror.

  Not embarrassed by this show of emotion in the least, the commander had taught him that fear was only natural. What one had to be wary of was when panic veiled logical thought. That was when it could prove fatally dangerous.

  From that moment on. Lance had felt accepted.

  Looking at the commander in a new light, he had accepted his duty draw wholeheartedly. Even Louis Marvin was beginning to rub off on him. The ensign, who always seemed to have a smile and joke to offer, was currently perched behind them. Competent and bold, he could be relied on when the going got rough.

  Proud to be an integral part of such a team. Lance sat forward to get a better look at the sonar screen. As they continued their approach, the exact shape and position of the wreck was most evident. The sub rested upright, on a relatively level, sandy sea bed. Its hull appeared intact, though there was considerable damage apparent aft, the probable result of an explosion in its stern.

  The hushed silence that had prevailed for the previous couple of minutes continued, as Pierce activated the Marlin’s spotlights and guided the DSRV up over the disabled vessel’s hull. Bending over to peer through the viewing scope, he took in the incapacitated sub’s blunt bow. Two plane fins protruded from each side of the hull, with a single fin projecting from its upper deck.

  Twenty feet or so behind these planes extended the vessel’s sail. Unusually long and thin, the conning tower’s surface was void of any identifiable marks that would hint at its nationality.

  As the Marlin continued its slow sweep down the sub’s hull. Lance spotted a strange-looking object sticking up from the deck behind the sail. Tubularshaped and over eight feet long, it appeared to be made of some sort of steel piping. It extended into the sub itself, under the cover of a partially extended piece of protective cowling. Having no idea what its purpose was, he picked out the smashed bulkhead that lay behind it. A gaping, jagged hole lay in this portion of the pressure hull. Though the inner hull still appeared intact, thick globs of black oil constantly strained from its seams. The torpedo appeared to have struck the upper portion of the stern with an upward, glancing blow. If it had hit it with a direct angle, he doubted if the vessel would still be in one piece. Appreciatively taking in this damage, Blackmore looked up when a deep voice sounded on his left.

  “I’ve got to admit that I’ve never seen a sub with this particular design before,” observed Pierce.

  “The Soviets must have been hiding it from us. Though the engine room is surely in a shambles, I bet she can still support life. What do you say about attaching Marlin onto her bow escape trunk and us having a firsthand look inside?”

  “Sounds good to me,” returned Marvin.

  “If they’re still kicking in there, Ivan will sure be glad to see us.”

  Blackmore knew that such an effort could be doubly dangerous. Beyond the threat of encountering a poisonous atmosphere inside was the manner in which they would be received if there were indeed survivors aboard. For what kind of reception could one expect from a crew that had just been torpedoed?

  Yet, with all this in mind, he couldn’t help but find himself curious as to the nature of the crew. Would they encounter a group of iron-fisted Soviets or a boatload of crazed terrorists? Just knowing that the Marlin’s crew could be the first to reveal their identities provided reason enough for the lieutenant to nod his head in consent.

  “Good,” replied Pierce, as he began turning the Marlin around to return to the sub’s bow.

  “Ready the boarding equipment, Ensign. It’s time you earned your keep around here anyway.”

  While Marvin ducked back inside the pressure capsule to initiate this task, Blackmore caught the boyish expression that lit the commander’s face.

  Looking like a child who was about to break into a candy store, Pierce beamed in anticipation. This enthusiasm was contagious, for Blackmore felt his own nerves tingle when the Marlin dropped onto the submarine’s upper deck. A loud, metallic clap followed as the DSRV rested firmly on its hull. Using the viewing port to complete a flurry of last-minute maneuvers, Pierce inched the Marlin forward. He looked up only when a voice cried out from behind.

  “We’ve got it, Skipper! The way it looks now, the transfer skirt just fits.”

  An expression of relief filled the commander’s face as he released his safety harness. Reaching up to grab the DSRV’s underwater telephone, he dialed the frequency band that was reserved for international emergencies. His voice was firm as he spoke into the transmitter.

  “Disabled submarine, this is the DSRV Marlin calling. We are presently attached to your forward escape trunk. We mean you no harm. We are here only to assist in your rescue. Do you copy?”

  A blast of raucous static was the only answer that he managed to pick up. Replacing the telephone, Pierce began pushing himself out of his command chair. Careful not to hit any of the controls, he managed to crawl into the tight hatchway that separated the two pressure spheres. Before disappearing altogether, he took a moment to address his concerned copilot. />
  “Don’t look so glum, Lieutenant. You didn’t think that I could merely sit here and miss all the action, did you? I’ll be back soon enough. In the meantime, I’ll be leaving the Marlin in your most capable hands.”

  With this, he turned and continued on back into the middle sphere. Blackmore watched as he took hold of the steel “bang-stick” that Marvin soon handed him. This spear-like object had an explosive charge on its tip. The Commander angled it down through the transfer skirt, and placed its tip up against the disabled sub’s hull. Pierce wasted no time triggering it. With a sharp blast, the charge activated and the submarine’s hatch was penetrated. It was Marvin who lowered the miniature testing device through the tiny hole that this blast had created.

  Using this instrument, he would determine if the vessel’s atmosphere were dangerous or not.

  “There’s no radioactivity apparent, Skipper. What little air that remains is sour, but it should be breathable for a short amount of time.”

  “That’s all I’m going to need,” answered Pierce, who began climbing down into the transfer skirt.

  Using the end of his flashlight, he rapped sharply on the visible portion of the hatch cover. Seconds later, the grating sound of twisting metal could be heard down below.

  “It looks like someone’s home after all,” added the commander, as he took a last fond look at his crew before descending into the now-open hatchway.

  “Give my regards to Ivan!” offered Marvin.

  Shutting the transfer skirt behind Pierce, the ensign stood up and caught the serious glance of the Marlin’s copilot.

  “I pity those poor Russkies if they try to pull any shenanigans with the Skipper. If they do, they’re going to wish that they were sunk for good.”

  Absorbing this comment, Blackmore wondered if he would have the nerve to do what Pierce was attempting. Shifting around in his seat, he placed one of his hands around the emergency disengage lever, just in case it were suddenly needed.

  It was pitch black as Will Pierce climbed down the steel ladder of the disabled sub’s escape trunk. The air was cool and smelled vaguely like rotten eggs.