Dirk Pitt18-Black Wind
Page 25
As the ROV passed the second plane's fuselage and approached the first
plane's set of pontoons, a quizzical look fell over Summer's face.
"Dirk, hold it there for a second," she said quietly, focusing on the
monitor.
"What is it?" he asked while neutralizing the position of the ROV.
"Look at the pontoons. Do you notice anything different?"
Dirk studied the monitor for a moment, then shook his head.
"The pair at the end of the hangar were cabled directly to the deck,"
Summer said. "But these two have a platform under each of them."
He looked at the images and his brow furrowed. Each of the pontoons
sat balanced on a square-shaped platform roughly two feet high.
Dirk eased the ROV around and alongside the base of one of the
pontoons, then positioned it next to the platform. Spinning the ROV
around, he applied the thrusters hard for a few seconds to try and blow
away the encrusted sediment. He repositioned the ROV, then waited for
the resulting cloud of sediment to subside. Peering through the murk,
they could clearly see an exposed section of the platform. It was a
hardwood crate built from what appeared to be mahogany. Dirk carefully
studied the entire platform.
"By God, that's got to be it."
"Are you sure?" Summer questioned.
"Well, I can't say what's inside, but the exterior is the same
construction and dimension as the bomb canister crates that I found
smashed open on the I-403."
Dirk surveyed the crate from all angles, then confirmed that a
matching crate was wedged beneath the second pontoon. Summer made a
notation on the video files, documenting the exact location in the
hangar where the crates were found. Pitt observed that each crate
appeared to be held in place by the force of the pontoon, which was
securely tied to the hangar deck by a half-dozen thick steel cables
that crisscrossed the top of each float.
"Nice eye, Summer. You get a beer for that catch."
"Make mine a bottle of Martin Ray Chardonnay," she replied with a half
smile. "I'm just glad we know where they are now."
"It's going to take someone a little more doing to get these out of
here."
"Us too, for that matter," Summer replied glumly.
The wheels in Dirk's mind were still churning to compute an escape plan
as he guided the ROV back toward the submersible. He lost
concentration when Snoopy's bright underwater lights approached and
shined brilliantly into the submersible's cockpit. Blinded in the
glare, he instinctively steered the ROV down toward the hangar deck as
he brought it closer to the Starfish. But as it approached, the ROV
suddenly hung suspended, failing to move the last few feet to its
cradle.
"Dirk, Snoopy's umbilical is caught on something," Summer noticed,
pointing out the bubble window.
Dirk followed her guide and could see in the murkiness that the ROV's
cable had snagged on some sort of debris lying on the hangar deck,
about twenty feet in front of them.
"I'm surprised we even made it so far through this obstacle course," he
replied.
Reversing direction, he backed up the ROV until the cable straightened
from its grasp around what looked to be a small engine sitting in a
tubular frame three feet off the ground.
"A gas-powered compressor, I bet," he said, noticing a pair of decayed
hoses connected to one end of the motor.
"What's with the big handle?" Summer asked, eyeing a large metal tod
protruding from one side of the block. A round, shovel-type grip was
attached to the end.
"It has an old mechanical starter. Kind of like pulling the rope on a
lawn mower, only pumping the handle cranks the motor over. I saw a
Swiss-made compressor on a dive boat once that had the same setup-"
Dirk stared at the handle for a moment, not moving the ROV.
"You're going to bring Snoopy home?" Summer finally asked.
"Yes," he replied with a sudden gleam in his eye. "But first he's
going to help get us out of here."
On board the Sea Rover, nervous apprehension was creeping over the
captain and crew. It had been nearly ninety minutes since they last
communicated with the Starfish and Morgan was anxiously preparing to
call in an emergency rescue. The Sea Rover was not carrying a backup
submersible, and the nearest NUMA submersible was at least twelve Hours
away.
"Ryan, let's contact the Navy's Deep Submergence Unit. Notify them of
our situation and request the ETA on a deep-water rescue vehicle,"
Morgan barked, silently dreading the thought.
If Dirk and Summer were in real trouble, he knew they had only a matter
of minutes, not hours. Their chances of rescue would be as slim as a
dime.
"Okay, Summer, hold the take-up reel." Dirk had positioned Snoopy near
the top of the hangar ceiling a few feet past the compressor when he
gave the command to Summer. She pressed a button on the console that
stopped an automatic spool from reeling in the ROV's power cable. Dirk
gently moved the ROV back toward the compressor, watching the cable
slacken beneath it. Like an anaconda coiling about its prey, he
carefully manipulated the ROV in a circular motion above the
compressor, letting the slack cable wrap loosely around the protruding
handle. After dancing the ROV around and around several times, he
successfully engineered five loops about the handle, which he tightened
by drawing the ROV up and away.
"Okay, activate the take-up spool and I'll pull with Snoopy!" "That
compressor must weigh three hundred pounds. Even underwater, you'll
never budge it," Summer replied, wondering if her brother had lost his
mind.
"It's not the compressor I'm after, it's the handle."
Toggling the ROV's controls, he increased the power to Snoopy, now
pointed in the direction of the submersible. The ROV surged forward
until its power cord tightened around the metal handle. Its small
thrusters churning the water, the little ROV fought to move forward but
could not muster enough force to budge the handle. Then Summer joined
in, reeling in the other end of the cable with the automatic take-up
spool until the cord went taut around the base of the handle. Though
both ends of the handle were now being yanked at, it was the lower end
snagged by Summer that did the trick. The boxed end of the metal bar
slid off the sprocketed knuckle that turned the flywheel and the whole
handle slipped free of the compressor, gliding through the water toward
the Starfish. Dirk carefully dragged it in a horizontal position, so
as not to lose his coiled grip, and gently tugged it to the front of
the submersible.
"I don't think Ryan is going to appreciate how you're treating his
ROV," Summer said with feigned concern.
"I'll buy him a new one if this works."
"And what exactly is it that you have in mind?" Summer asked, still
not sure of his intent.
"Why, just a little bit of leverage, my dear sister. If you'd be so
kind as to grab my newfound crowbar with the left mechani
cal arm,
you'll see what I mean."
Dirk guided the ROV close to the left side of the Starfish, towing the
handle with it. Summer then activated the controls of the left
mechanical arm and opened its clawlike hand. Working in unison, they
brought the two devices together until Summer could securely snatch one
end of the handle with the vise-strong claw. Dirk then slackened the
ROV cable and slowly backed Snoopy away, unraveling the cable off the
free end of the bar. Once clear, he activated the cable spool up and
returned Snoopy to the Starfish, securing the ROV in its cradle.
"For a beagle, Snoopy makes for a pretty good retriever," Summer
remarked.
"Let's see now if our mechanical arm can make for a good floor jack,"
Dirk replied.
His eyes studied a row of battery ampere gauges on the submarine's
control panel. They had spent more than an hour operating the ROV and
their power level had been drained to barely thirty percent. Time was
running short if they were to have any hope of making it back to the
surface on their own.
"Let's do this on one try. Purging tanks," he said, pushing a pair of
buttons that pumped water out of the ballast tank in order to increase
buoyancy. He then powered up the main thrusters to the submersible.
Summer had meanwhile brought the mechanical arm around the front of the
Starfish to its full dexterity and studied the position of the wedged
propeller. It would have to be lifted and pushed forward slightly for
them to pry themselves away, but there was little space to work the
handle in. After leaning the handle against one of the skids and
shortening her grip, she was able to work eight inches of the metal bar
under the tip of the fallen propeller.
"Ready," she said tentatively, wiping a sweaty palm on her pant leg.
Dirk was also sweating profusely, as the cramped cockpit had grown hot
once the air-conditioning was shut down to conserve power.
"Pry us out of here," Dirk said, his hand at the ready on the thruster
controls. With tense anticipation, Summer gently shifted the controls
that raised the mechanical arm. Where the hydraulic power of the arm
was insufficient to lift the arm on its own, the added leverage of the
metal handle prying against the deck was just enough to budge it.
Creeping ever so slowly, the propeller blade rose an inch, then two,
then a few more. Dirk could feel the rear of the submersible tilt off
the deck slightly from the added buoyancy. When Summer had safely
jimmied the blade above the height of the front skids, he slammed the
power controls to maximum reverse thrust.
There was no immediate blast of power or skyrocketing acceleration by
the Starfish but rather just a slight jerk as it backed tail first on
the deck. The submersible slid up and away from the grasp of the
propeller as the blade slipped down the compressor handle and clanged
back to the hangar deck just inches in front of the Starfish's
skids.
"Nicely done, sis. What do you say we go get some fresh air?" Dirk
said, adjusting the thrusters to raise the Starfish up and out of I-411's hangar.
"I'm with you," Summer replied with obvious relief.
Almost the second they cleared the walls of the hangar deck, the deep
voice of Ryan blew loudly through communication earphones.
"Starfish, this is Sea Rover. Do you read, over," came a monotonous
tone that had obviously been repeating the phrase a thousand times over
in the last few hours.
"This is Starfish" Summer responded. "We read you loud and clear. Have
initiated ascent, please stand by for recovery."
"Roger, Starfish" Ryan replied in a suddenly excited pitch. "You have
some folks worried up here. Do you need assistance?"
"Negative. We just stubbed our toe down here. All is well; we'll be
topside shortly."
"Copy that. Standing by for recovery."
Their ascent time, aided by controlled positive buoyancy, was slightly
quicker than their descent, and in ten minutes they could make out the
glowing bright lights of the Sea Rover's moon pool. The faint
outline of the ship appeared as the submersible drew closer and Dirk
tweaked the Starfish's thrusters with what little remaining power he
had to guide them to the center of the glowing ring of beacons. Dirk
and Summer both let out a silent sigh of relief as they popped through
the hole in the ship's bottom and bobbed to the surface of the pool.
Morgan, Ryan, and a half-dozen crew members ringed the moon pool and
watched intently as the Starfish was plucked from the water by a hoist
and lowered gently to the deck. Dirk powered down the submersible as
Summer opened the rear hatch and the two climbed out for a grateful
breath of fresh air.
"We were afraid you got lost down there," Morgan smiled, then looked
quizzically at the compressor handle that was still lodged in the grip
of the left mechanical arm.
"That's our walking stick," Summer explained. "We took a walk where we
ought not to have gone and had a little trouble getting back out."
"Well," Morgan asked, unable to refrain from the other concern on his
mind, "what did you find?"
"Two cartons of eggs waiting to be delivered," Dirk said with a grin.
The Sea Rover's crew worked feverishly to repair the Starfish's
mechanical arm and replenish the submersible's drained batteries while
Dirk, Summer, and Morgan formulated a salvage strategy. Reviewing the
video footage recorded by Snoopy, they calculated the exact position in
the sub's hangar where the bomb crates were situated. Studying the
video closely, they determined that the hangar's bulkhead walls were
constructed in ten-foot sections.
"We should be able to cut through the original seams and lift out a
ten-foot piece of bulkhead alongside the pontoons," Dirk said, tapping
a frozen video image with a pencil. "The Starfish is eight feet wide,
so that should give us enough room to maneuver close and remove the
bombs with the mechanical arms."
"We're fortunate in that the currents around the wreck are only about 1
to 2 knots, so we'll be able to work unimpeded by the seas. It will
still take us a couple of dives, though," Summer added.
"Ryan can alternate dives with you two," Morgan said. "Why don't you
grab a few hours' rest while we turn the submersible around and prepare
for some cutting?"
"You don't have to ask me twice," Summer yawned in reply. Her sleep
was short-lived, however, when Dirk woke her three hours later and they
prepared for another dive. With a fresh set of batteries the Starfish was released again and they made their slow descent to the submarine. The submersible hovered off the side of the hangar facing the blast hole, then slowly moved sideways toward the conning
tower. At six-foot intervals, measured by the width between the two
semi-extended mechanical arms, Dirk would push the submersible forward
and scratch a measuring mark on the encrusted surface with the left
claw. At the tenth interval, or sixty feet from the torpedo gash, he
scratched a rough A on the side of the hangar
.
"This is where we cut," he said to Summer. "Let's see if we can find
the seams."
Dragging one of the claws along the surface of the hangar, Dirk thrust
the submersible sideways, leaving a long scratch along the wall. Moving
back and closely examining the scarred section, which bled a dirty rust
and gold, they quickly found an exposed vertical crease, representing
the seam where two plates of the watertight hangar were welded
together. As expected, another vertical seam was found ten feet away.
While the Starfish hovered, Summer scraped away at the seams, using the
claw like a knife, exposing the weld lines. When she was finished, a
square outline in the shape of a garage door had been etched on the
hangar.
"So much for the easy part," Dirk said. "You ready to cut?" "Pop
these on and let's get started," Summer replied, handing him a pair of
welder's protective glasses while donning a pair herself. Taking
control of both mechanical arms, she reached into a basket mounted on
the front skid pad and with the right claw retrieved an electrode
holder, connected via a reinforced line to a 230-amp DC power source
inside the submersible. With the left claw, she attached an iron oxide
non exothermic cutting rod into the electrode holder and flicked on the
power. Unlike a typical underwater cutting rod, which required a
supply of oxygen to fuel the burn, the iron oxide rods simply required
a power source to generate a superheated cutting arc. The less
complicated design was more practical for welding at remote underwater