Submarine Outlaw

by Philip Roy

  A whole month had passed since I left my grandparents. I half expected to see my grandfather at the junkyard again but he never came. After two weeks I sent them a letter telling them I was fine, doing well, and still around.

  The tent had become my home and I was quite comfortable there. I lived on peanut-butter sandwiches, oranges and canned soup — the kind of diet I was planning to eat in the sub. My laundry was a different story. I was used to finding clean clothes on my bed every other day. Now I was starting to realize that if I didn’t wash my clothes, nobody else would. I tried to ignore the issue but after a few weeks Ziegfried started bringing it up. I felt a little insulted when he said I smelled like the inside of an old can of paint.

  “How do you keep your clothes clean?” I asked.

  “It may come as a surprise to you, Al, but I wash them all by myself.”

  So, I borrowed some soap from him and washed my clothes in the stream next to my tent. At first it seemed a terrible waste of time, but once the clothes were dry and I put them on clean, I felt a small, pleasurable sense of satisfaction.

  “Well, now there’s something,” Ziegfried said the next day. “Every sailor washes his own clothes. Good morning, sailor.”

  “Good morning yourself.”

  Chapter Nine

  The launch took place at Deep Cove in the middle of the night beneath an overcast sky and crescent moon. We wrapped the sub in brown canvas tarps, raised it one end at a time and slid the trailer beneath it. We worked quickly — it was dark at ten o’clock and light again by five. The fishermen would be going to the wharf by four and would see us once they were on the water and the sun came up. We had to drive at a snail’s pace over the potholes in the road. Anyone on the road in the middle of night would certainly have seen us, and tongues would wag.

  “Murphy’s Law, Al: if anything can go wrong, it will.”

  But other than one flat tire, which didn’t stop us, everything went rather well. We reached the cove by two o’clock. Going down the hill was the hardest part. Ziegfried drove his old four-wheel-drive, which had no trouble pulling the trailer on the flat road but struggled backing down the hill. The trailer dragged the truck down whether it wanted to go or not. The trailer tires were only half filled with air so they would absorb many of the bumps without disturbing the balance and help keep us from sinking in the sand. We were afraid more than once that the sub would get stranded on the beach and the fishermen would spy it from their boats.

  “We should have borrowed a tractor,” Ziegfried said.

  It took half an hour to cross the beach where the sand slanted downwards and we could ease into the water. Ziegfried backed up until the trailer was completely submerged. I pulled the tarps off and secured a rope from the sub to the truck. Together, we entered the water, climbed on top of the sub and unlashed it from the trailer. Gently, like a tamed whale, the sub floated free of the trailer. We yelled with excitement.

  “Woo . . . Hooooo! Woo . . . Hooooo!”

  The sub rocked slightly from side to side but did not drop its bow or stern, and did not sink.

  “She sits well in the water, Al. She sits very well indeed.”

  I was too excited to speak. I just wanted to jump inside and start the engine and race out to sea. But that would have to wait.

  “Okay, Al. I’ll take the truck up the hill and hide the trailer. Why don’t you climb inside and throw a few switches?”

  He slipped off the sub and clambered up the beach to the truck. I opened the hatch of the portal and climbed inside. Everything was familiar, yet different. The sub seemed tiny compared to its size in the yard. And whereas before it sat perfectly still, now it rocked gently in the waves. This gave it a whole new feeling.

  I took my seat in front of the control panel and flipped the switches to activate the electrical system. The sub filled with light — soft, white, over-head lights, and blue, green, orange lights on the sonar, radar and pressure systems. I wanted to wait until Ziegfried came back before starting the engine; it was such a special moment.

  I didn’t have to wait long. There was a slight tilt to one side as he climbed the side of the sub. Next, water spilled inside from his clothes. I watched the water run into the drain. One peek at the panel board told me the flush tank was registering a marginal amount of water.

  Ziegfried came down the ladder, and, with a beaming face took a seat on the floor. He was too tall to stand in the sub.

  “Well, Captain?”

  It came as a surprise to me. But it was true; I was the captain of the sub. I was the one who would sail it. By the law of the sea, this made me the captain.

  “I think we should start the engine.”

  Ziegfried nodded respectfully as I reached over and flipped the engine switch. We heard it ignite in the stern and felt a soft purring vibration come up through the floor. We grinned at each other with satisfaction.

  “I see there is water in the flush tank, Captain. Do you think we ought to flush it?”

  “Yes, I think so.”

  I flipped another switch. A small hissing sound was heard as pressurized air was blown into the tank. The panel board read that the tank was now empty. Everything was working like a dream.

  “And now?” said Ziegfried.

  He looked at his watch. I glanced at the clock on the control panel. It was three thirty. The fishermen would be on the wharf in half an hour and out in their boats not long after that.

  “We need to tie up out of sight,” I said.

  “What do you suggest?”

  To the right was a smaller cove where the sub could blend in with jutting rocks.

  “Let’s go around the corner and keep an eye on the sonar to make sure we don’t hit anything.”

  “Aye, aye, Captain.”

  I laughed. Ziegfried made an unlikely first mate.

  The sonar revealed a flat bottom with a series of rising columns to the right. Some of these broke through the surface. Underwater they spread out onto the ocean floor. I put the sub in first gear and took hold of the throttle. As I raised the throttle the engine purred more loudly and the sub began to move forward. Watching the sonar, I carefully steered between the rocks. After cutting the engine, we drifted slowly.

  “If you reverse the engine a tiny bit when you want to stop,” said Ziegfried, “you should be able to cause the sub to sit still. This is what the fishermen do.”

  I put the engine in reverse and raised the throttle. The reversing of the propeller caused water turbulence and the sub rocked gently from side to side, but stopped moving forward. I shut the engine off.

  “She’s very responsive, Captain. Excellent.”

  We climbed out of the hatch and looked around. The sub was neatly placed between three jutting rocks.

  “It’s a good place,” said Ziegfried. “They won’t see her from out there. Now if we tie her up she won’t bang against the rocks.”

  So we moored the sub and dropped our small anchor overboard and watched a thin line of blue appear on the horizon.

  “Okay, Al. We should get some sleep. Are you going to stay in the sub?”

  “You bet.”

  “Okay. I’ll be back in the afternoon. It’s been quite a night.”

  We shook hands. Then Ziegfried slipped into the water and climbed up on a rock.

  “Maybe we should take a peek at that schooner tomorrow,” he said as he disappeared out of sight.

  My bed was a hanging cot — a narrow metal basket with a foam mattress, suspended in the air by bungee cords. The cords permitted the cot to swing level when the sub was tossing and turning — a preventative against seasickness. I poked around for awhile, peered out the periscope, then climbed into bed and curled up in the blankets. The wall floated gently up and down with the waves as I fell asleep. I slept long and peacefully and didn’t wake until Ziegfried’s booming voice came through the portal.

  “Ahoy! Captain! Permission to come aboard?”

  I swung out of bed and climbed the portal
. Ziegfried was stretched between a rock and the sub, holding a bag above his head with one hand.

  “I brought pizza and root-beer. A celebration.”

  I wiped the sleep from my eyes.

  “Good morning.”

  “Good afternoon.”

  “Good afternoon. You brought pizza?”

  “Yup.”

  He handed the bag over and climbed up the sub.

  “Thanks. I guess I slept a long time.”

  “You know what, Al? We should bring a small rubber dinghy down here and hide it somewhere. Then we won’t have to get soaked every time we come to the sub.”

  “Good idea. Thanks for the pizza. I’m really hungry.”

  “Well, I thought you might be. Let’s eat. We have a lot to test today.”

  After a celebratory lunch we untied the sub and started it up and took it over to the drop-off. I watched the sonar while Ziegfried scrunched up in the observation window.

  “I see the wire! And I think maybe I see the schooner. Wow, Al, that’s a long way down. I can’t believe you dove most of the way down there.”

  “It’s not so hard, once you get used to it.”

  “If you’re a fish. Okay, if we secure the hatch we can make our first test dive. What do you think, Captain?”

  I grinned.

  “You bet!”

  “You should do it all by yourself, Al. Just pretend I’m not here.”

  “Okay.”

  I climbed the portal and sealed the hatch, then returned to my seat and examined the control panel. Flipping four switches let water into four ballast compartments at the same time. The depth gauge told us the sub was sinking.

  “We’re going down, Al. Can you feel it?”

  “Yes.”

  “I can see the schooner more clearly. Be careful we don’t hit bottom.”

  At seventy-five feet I pumped a little air into the ballast tanks. The sub slowed but didn’t stop.

  “More air, Al! We’re still falling! More air!”

  I added more air. The sub slowed again but the depth gauge read ninety-five feet.

  “We’re right beside the schooner, Al! We’re going to hit!”

  There was gentle but loud bump as the sub touched the ocean floor.

  “Ooops!” I said.

  “Yikes! Well, it wasn’t too bad. I don’t think we did any damage. But that shows how tricky it is to dive.”

  I looked at the depth gauge.

  “We’re rising!”

  “I know. Now you’ve got to let more water into the tanks again. But just a little, Al. It’ll take awhile to get the hang of it. That’s why we’re testing.”

  “At least we know everything works.”

  “That’s right. More importantly . . . no leaks!” I smiled. I knew there wouldn’t be any leaks.

  All afternoon we practised diving and surfacing. I began to get a feeling for how much air was needed, and, when to let it in or out. Timing was everything. Learning to control the sub, Ziegfried said, was like trying to teach an elephant tricks in the circus. A lot of patience was required to learn the smallest skill.

  On one of our dives we sat right above the schooner and stared.

  “She’s pretty big, Al. I’d say, fifty feet or so.”

  “What do you think is in those boxes?”

  “Who knows? Could be anything: wine, thumbtacks, silverware . . . books.”

  “Treasure?”

  “No, not on the deck. If a ship were carrying treasure it would be hidden somewhere. It’s probably something ordinary, and probably ruined by the salt water anyway.”

  “Do you think we could raise one and have a look?”

  “You’re the captain. I’m just the technical support. If you say, ‘raise those boxes,’ then I’ll get busy and figure out how to do it.”

  I laughed.

  “I’d love to get our hands on one.”

  “Me too. Well, I have an idea. But I think we’d have to secure the services of a good open-water diver.”

  “I think I can find one.”

  The next day we dropped a cable with a hook-basket. When the basket was lowered onto a box, the hooks would grip around the edges and tighten up. Then we could raise it. But I needed to swim close enough to place the basket by hand.

  Ziegfried took the sub down to sixty feet. He brought the basket as close to a box as possible. Then, I swam down to seventy-five feet and fiddled with the cable until the basket fell over one of the boxes. It took three dives to get it in place. Looking at Ziegfried from outside the observation window was the funniest feeling; I could hardly concentrate. But I did hook one box and we pulled it up with the sub.

  The box was too heavy to hoist out of the water but we pulled it alongside the sub and tied it up. Then we took the sub close to a rock with a flat edge to use as a landing. With ropes we managed to pull the box onto the rock.

  “Whew!” said Ziegfried. “This better be worth it. There better be diamonds inside.”

  “Or gold.”

  I fetched a hammer from the sub’s toolbox and Ziegfried tore the box open. The two of us stared inside and burst out laughing.

  “Sardines!”

  The boxes were full of sardines. Our first treasure. We laughed until our stomachs ached.

  Chapter Ten

  The rest of the summer was spent checking off a list of tests — diving and surfacing tests, engine tests, battery tests, sonar tests, bicycle tests — night and day. We tested how fast the sub could go and how quickly it could stop. We lowered listening sensors into the water from the beach and tested how much noise the sub made on its various maneuvers. We made sighting tests by standing on shore with a pair of binoculars. Ziegfried said the sub looked like a peanut floating on top of a pot of soup. Then, just when I thought maybe he had exhausted his list of tests, he began his secret tests.

  We were preparing for deeper water. Ziegfried, who had been fiddling in the stern, sat on the floor and waited for me to start the engine. I flipped the engine switch, but . . . nothing happened. I flipped it again.

  “Nothing’s happening!”

  “Oh?” he said, looking innocent. “I wonder what’s wrong.”

  I stared at him and suddenly realized what was going on. He had intentionally sabotaged the sub. It was up to me to find the problem and fix it. I had to be quick too. What if the engine broke down when pirates were chasing me?

  I opened the panel board and checked the engine switch. It seemed okay. I followed the wiring through its waterproof piping to the stern. It was next to impossible to have a break in the wiring within the piping. Likely the problem was in the engine compartment. I checked the wires to the starter — they seemed okay at a glance. I checked the spark plugs and every visible working component. Everything was sparkling clean and in perfect working order. I shook my head and went back to the control panel and flipped the switch again. Nothing.

  “What can it be?”

  Ziegfried shrugged his shoulders.

  “Don’t ask me. I’m a thousand miles away.”

  I went through the sequence again. The switch was fine, the starter was fine, the wires seemed okay, the engine was perfect.

  “It doesn’t make sense.”

  I checked the fuel line. It was okay. I came back to the panel board and shook my head.

  “We’re dead in the water, Al.”

  “I can’t figure it out. Everything is okay.”

  “Everything is okay, or, everything seems okay?”

  That was a clue. Everything seemed okay, but something wasn’t. I went through the sequence again, with extra care. I examined the switch for looseness when I flicked it. I went back to the engine and checked the wires leading to the starter. They looked perfect. But this time I ran my finger gently underneath them just to be extra sure. Suddenly, one of the wires revealed it was severed in two. It looked normal enough but had been cut right through. I smiled.

  “Find something, Al?”

  “Maybe.”

>   I went to the toolbox and grabbed pliers and electrician’s tape. I bared the wire, spliced it, taped it, then went back and flipped the switch. The engine roared to life.

  “Good job, Al! That took you . . . twelve minutes.”

  “I should have been faster.”

  “What did you learn?”

  “To be more thorough the first time.”

  “Absolutely! Leave no wire unchecked. Make your first check as thoroughly as possible. Don’t let appearances deceive you.”

  The lesson was not wasted on me. Neither were the many more secret tests he conducted, such as disconnecting hoses, removing electrical plates, loosening switches and valves . . . even hiding my lunch. By the end of summer my patience had been tested as much as anything else. Every time I wanted to perform a maneuver in the sub it seemed something was broken down. It was a frustrating but invaluable method of teaching. But the biggest test was yet to come.

  It was a dark and misty day. We moored the sub close to a rocky promontory in twenty feet of water, above sand, and shut everything off. Ziegfried tied fishing line to the ballast switches and we climbed out, leaving the hatch wide open. Sitting on the rock, we went over the procedure again and again, and then Ziegfried pulled the line. Water was let into the tanks. It gave me a terrible feeling in my stomach to watch the sub begin to dive and water spill inside. The sub went down like a stone. Various compartments, such as the engine room, were sealed watertight, as they normally would have been. Ziegfried looked at his watch.

  “Okay, Al. Are you ready?”

  I was already breathing deeply. I nodded.

  “You’ve got two minutes. Go!”

  I slipped into the water with practised calm. The calmer I was, the more time I had. I swam the short distance to the sub and went headfirst into the portal. It was upsetting to see everything underwater. Once inside, I sealed the hatch, then had to fight down a feeling of panic at the knowledge I was locked inside a tank full of water, under the ocean. Swimming inside, I reached down to the control panel but found myself disoriented. I was backwards and upside down in front of the panel. Again I had to fight down a panic. I shut my eyes.