by Steven Cook
âTheyâre dead. Not a peep.â
The lights flickered again, plunging the command centre into darkness for a full second before fitfully springing back to life.
âHelm, flank speed. Full ahead,â the Commander made a snap decision.
âAye Aye Sir,â the helmsman manipulated the controls before him.
At the rear of the sleek vessel the single screw started to rotate quickly, attempting to drive the submarine up to its maximum speed of over twenty-five knots. Before the screw could get up to full revolutions something dramatic happened to the boat.
In the command centre and everywhere else across the boat the lights went out instantly and the almost imperceptible noises of the boats machinery stopped. The commander immediately snatched up a telephone and attempted to contact the engine room.
âConn â Engine Room.â There was no sound from the telephone, not even static. The line was dead.
âEngine Room, this is Conn, come in,â the Commander waited a second.
âAndy, get down there and see whatâs going on.â The XO slowly moved aft, feeling his way in the pitch dark.
âMake a hole, coming through.â The crew moved away from the booming voice of the officer.
In the engine room things were no calmer. In a split second the quiet hum of the electrical equipment and the coolant circulation system had stopped dead. The dead quiet had an eerie quality to it.
âThe reactorâs dead.â Chief Engineer Dave Carrick couldnât believe it. His voice trembled in the pitch dark. The emergency lights had also failed.
The death of the reactor signed the boats death warrant. Without power the ship had no means of propelling herself. She would no longer have the ability to surface, and there was the possibility that she would start to descend towards the seabed.
This wouldnât be a problem for the crew, as they would be crushed to death as the incredible pressure of the sea shattered the hull.
Unseen behind the stricken boat the bubble continued to slowly rise. Its leading edge was directly beneath the rear of the dead submarine. Ahead of it came a stream of hot water, which, although it lost heat as it rose, was still hot enough to cause turbulence.
In the command centre the Commander was attempting to remain calm. His training had dealt with various crises, but total power failure had not been one.
âConn, how deep are we?â he asked the darkness.
âSir, we were at one hundred and fifty feet.â The voice came nervously from the darkness.
The wave of hot water reached the stricken submarine. It was rocked by a massive concussion that threw every loose object into the air and knocked men from their feet. Several pipes cracked, releasing scalding steam into the darkness. The crew leapt into action, turning valves to cut off the flow and protect themselves.
Artley thought for a split second. There was a storm on the surface and they were deeper than he would have preferred, but he had only one option. Another concussion rocked the ship, causing it to tilt over at ten degrees.
âPass the word. Abandon ship.â
In spite of the severity of the situation, the crew responded calmly. They had trained for this possibility. In fact they wouldnât have qualified for their berth if they couldnât carry out the drill.
Soon the word was passing through the silent boat, and men scrambled through the darkness, relying on their knowledge of the layout of the passageways.
With increasing frequency, increasingly heavy jolts tossed the blind crew around the confined spaces. The only noises were from objects hitting the various surfaces and the grunts and curses of the crew constantly picking themselves up.
To the rear of the ship a small group of nervous sailors quickly gathered around the rear escape hatch, bracing themselves against the sloping walls and bulkheads. Working in the darkness Dave Carrick located the manual release and opened the internal hatch.
âEverybody in, with power down we only have one opportunity. Once the airlock is flooded we wonât be able to recycle it.â
As calmly as possible the seven crewmembers climbed up into the chamber, following the previous member by touch. Andy Warnett climbed the ladder and knelt inside the hatch.
âCome on chief.â He called down. He stuck his hand back down through the hatch and attempted to touch the engineer. Instead all he could feel was the hatch being pushed back into place.
âChief, no!â His plea was ignored as Carrick hauled the hatch shut and secured it.
Inside the airlock the XO took charge.
âEverybody get a kit.â Leading by example he grabbed one of the combined flotation devices and breathing apparatus and pulled it over his head.
He waited until the rustling and shuffling had subsided.
âEverybody ready?â He waited and counted the affirmative replies. The chamber was deadly silent. The violent jolts had ceased.
âOK, Iâm going to flood the chamber.â He grabbed the wheel of the valve and slowly cranked it open.
The water he expected didnât appear through the vents. Finally the valve locked fully open, still with no water coming through.
âThis is odd,â he said to no one in particular.
He reached above his head and started to open the top hatch. With the locks fully open he attempted to push it open. If there were water outside he would have no chance of opening it, as the pressure outside would be bearing down on it.
To his surprise, the hatch opened easily, letting a pale blue light to pass through. The light was accompanied by less than a bucketful of water. Throwing the hatch open fully he scrambled up the rungs attached to the side of the chamber up onto the hull.
Sticking his head out of the hatch he quickly looked around.
Two yards towards the bow of the boat a shimmering blue barrier was cutting across the boat. Beyond the barrier he could see a small school of fish swimming in the ocean around the rest of the submarine. To the stern he could see the rest of the boat. He climbed the final few feet and stood on the deck. Stepping to one side he looked down.
The submarine was stuck in the barrier, like it was stuck through the side of an inverted snow globe with the water outside. The rear was suspended in mid air, fifty feet above the water below. Several hundred yards away, beyond the water in the snow globe below, he could see land.
âGet the lower hatch open, and then get up here now.â He returned to the hatch and started to help the crew up one by one.
As each one climbed up he had a quick look around. He noticed that the barrier was moving away from him slowly. There was a judder as the stern of the ship dropped several inches.
âOK lads,â he started as the small group gathered around, âweâre going to have to jump. There is water of some kind below, but we donât know how deep it is. The drop is about fifty feet so make sure you go in feet first with your legs together. As soon as you hit the water start swimming away. Iâm certain the Boise is going to slide backwards into that water down there.â
The boat juddered again and dropped by a greater number of inches. A creaking groan of highly stressed metal accompanied the drop.
âGo.â
One by one the men stood and staggered to the edge of the hull as the judders increased in frequency and violence. Bracing themselves they took a leaping step beyond the flaring hull. Quickly they clamped their legs together and clasped their arms to their chests.
They plunged vertically into the calm crystal water of the lagoon; the water quickly slowed their plunge, yet more than one touched the sandy bottom.
Having a base to propel them from the men burst back to the surface and followed XOâs instructions. They started to swim for the distant shore.
The XO remained on the hull of the submarine. He had one hand gripping the edge of the escape hatch, the other the hatch itself and had his
head down the opening.
âThis way, rear escape hatch,â he bellowed down into the submarine.
Chief Carrick appeared in the dim column of light at the base of the shaft created by the two open hatches. He looked up and saw the open escape route. He grabbed a man standing beside him and shoved him half way up the ladder into the airlock.
âMove it,â he bellowed. He assisted another onto the rungs before disappearing.
The deck juddered violently as Warnett assisted Fitz and another crewmen out of the escape hatch.
âJump for it and swim for the land,â he instructed.
Fitz stayed where he was while the other crewman staggered to the edge of the deck and stepped into space.
There was a huge judder and the shriek of tearing metal. Fitz looked up and towards the bow. As further time had passed more of the Boise had become suspended in mid air. The huge strain was beyond what the submarine had been designed for, and the massive weight of the rear of the vessel, together with the loaded tomahawk missiles, was starting to tear the submarine apart.
Chief Carrick reappeared at the foot of the ladder and started to climb. Fitz couldnât help but notice the water sloshing at the foot of the ladder.
âSir, you jump, Iâll help Dave.â
The XO took one quick look towards the bow then made his way to the side. With a quick look down he drew a deep breath and stepped forwards. It felt like he was airborne for minutes, but he quickly plunged into the calm waters of the lagoon. He kicked for the surface then struck out for the shore.
Back on the suspended submarine deck Chief Carrickâs hand reached over the lip of the hatch, slapping around for a secure grip. Fitz grabbed it and physically hauled the man onto the main deck. The chief scrambled to his feet as Fitz dragged him towards the edge of the deck.
Behind them the torture of the metal ended at the submarine finally succumbed to the stress. The rear of the boat dropped by several feet as internal bulkheads were torn apart. The two men were thrown from their feet.
Without even bothering to get back to their feet, they scrambled across the deck on hands and knees. They finally reached the edge of the deck and threw themselves headlong over it. Fitz smashed down onto the side of the ship where it belled out, sending him spinning down to the lagoon below, arms and legs cart wheeling.
Carrick was luckier; he slammed down feet first onto the flared hull. He felt, rather than heard the snap of his ankle breaking, but he was able to bounce and pushed away to clear the rest of the boat, taking a more controlled descent into the water.
As he crashed into the water Carrick sank quickly. His feet hit the bottom, causing a massive pain to shoot through his right ankle. He bit back the urge to scream.
Without hesitating, and pushing the pain aside he launched himself back to the surface. Kicking one legged he swam through the clear water towards the surface. He came up underneath Fitz, and in panic he grappled with him until his head broached the surface. He dragged in a deep breath and looked at his companion.
Fitz was floating face down; the buoyancy aid he was wearing had lifted him temporarily to the surface. Carrick quickly rolled him onto his back and determined he was still breathing. A jagged gash in his temple was pouring with blood.
He looked up to see that the hull of the Boise had almost separated. He hooked his fingers into the strapping of Fitzâ life jacket and struck out one armed and one legged towards the shore.
With a massive shriek and several painful snaps the hull finally parted. Over a thousand tonnes of metal plunged into the quiet lagoon. The resulting shock wave picked up Carrick and Fitz in the surge and carried them towards the beach.
The bow of the Boise, relieved of the mass of most of the area aft of the main sail, was blown away from the rising bubble by the air escaping. It sank beyond the rising island into the depths of the North Atlantic.
The crew of the Boise still in the bow section were killed instantly as the crushing black water swept through the tortured section in seconds, smashing them against the bulkheads with savage fury. It seemed as if the ocean was taking great delight in claiming the lives of those who had dared to invade her depths.
Those remaining in the aft section were no luckier. The sudden drop to the lagoon and the subsequent crash into the seabed threw them into the bulkheads. The already weakened section couldnât maintain its integrity and collapsed, killing many, and preventing those still conscious from escaping.
The waters of the lagoon flooded into the shell with crushing finality and completed the job started by the drop. Nobody was able to escape the deluge, and the watertight doors would no longer fit into their frames.
The survivors made it to shore in ones and twos, helping each other in turn. The first nine reached the shore in time to turn and see the death of the USS Boise. They were stunned as the hull slammed into the lagoon, wrecking a length of the reef and throwing up a mini tidal wave.
They saw the wave wash Chief Carrick and Shane Fitzpatrick onto the beach beyond the river, barely two hundred yards distant. They watched in despair, as one of the two men dragged the other out of the surf a short distance before he too collapsed into the sand.
Looking briefly around they saw that they were ashore on a long, sand and shingle beach split by a wide, straight river descending to the sea. Back several hundred yards from the beach thick woods blocked out any further views inland.
Looking out into the lagoon they could see the remains of the Boise. Beyond it the pale blue light appeared as a tinted window into the real world. They could see the heavy storm throwing waves against the shield.
Suddenly the bright light disappeared in a burst of pale blue light and the weather conditions from the surface cut in. The storm started to whip up the waves in the lagoon and the rain started to lash down, quickly chilling the survivors in their light submarine overalls. As one they scrambled up the beach towards the shelter of the trees.
*
North Atlantic Monitoring Station - 21st May
Chip McCauley sat with his feet up on the console and a wide based cup of coffee resting on his generous stomach. He was half reading a dog-eared copy of a spy thriller that had done the rounds in the office several times. The other half of his attention was on the real-time satellite image of a storm raging over the North Atlantic.
The storm had been more intensive earlier on in his watch, but was slowly dying away. It would probably drop in category to a strong gale before daylight hit the area. It was no different from any of the other storms that had raged in the region over the years.
He lowered the book and reached for the cup of strong black coffee resting on his stomach and took a healthy slurp. He replaced the cup and stuck his hand into a large bag of nacho chips. He crammed the chips in his mouth and washed them down with another slug of coffee. Without interest he scanned the screen again.
It took a few seconds for his brain to process the image on the screen. He moved his head slightly to focus beyond his feet and the badly worn socks.
His hand paused as it returned the cup to its resting place. On the screen, as he watched, an object was appearing on the satellite image. Slowly he pulled his feet off the console one at a time and carefully put the cup on the desk. He dragged his wheeled chair closer to the screen. Unnoticed the book dropped to the floor.
Grabbing the mouse he dragged a box around the object and activated the zoom function. After an agonizing pause the selected area zoomed in. He held his breath as the screen slowly resolved from the pixels to a clear image.
What appeared before his eyes amazed him. An island had risen from the depths of the ocean. The high-resolution image showed mountains, valleys and forests. It also revealed signs of civilisation. Clusters of buildings were dotted around the island.
The object that grabbed his attention more than any other was what appeared to be a large city in the south of the island. It appeared to be laid out in concentric rings, with w
ide canals separating each ring, and bridges spanning the canals.
Not removing his eyes from the screen McCauley groped and found the telephone. He punched one of the pre-configured buttons to get through to his superior.
âYes Chip. This better be good.â Dave Andrews sounded half asleep, which was probably being generous. He usually got a few hours sleep on an overnight watch.
âDave. You are not going to believe this,â stated Chip slowly.
âThis had better be important, I was asleep,â yawned Andrews.
âAtlantis has just risen out of the Atlantic east of the Azores.â
âStop messing around. How much coffee have you had?â
âIâm not kidding. Thereâs a new island maybe three hundred miles wide sticking out of the ocean.â
The tone of Chipâs voice woke Andrews up instantly. He slammed the phone back in the cradle, rolled off the couch he had been occupying and ran through to the control room.
He skidded to a halt beside Chip; his shoeless feet kicked the dropped book under the table. He unceremoniously shoved Chip to one side and peered short-sightedly at the monitor.
âGet the emergency numbers. A lot of people are going to be interested in this.â
He wasnât wrong.
Chip reached for the phone with one hand, and a slim directory with the other.
*
Chapter Four â Discovery
White House 21st May
âTalk to me Jack. Why are you waking me at such an obnoxious hour?â said John Sheen as he walked into the lounge. He glanced down at his watch and almost wished he hadnât. He looked out of the window to see that the sky was still dark. The odd car light through the trees was the only sign of the nation being awake.
Sheen looked as bad as he felt. He had been attending an international summit in Indonesia regarding the climate and was still suffering the effects of the long, two leg flight back to the United States. His impeccable clothing alleviated the signs of fatigue, but his face, and especially the light stubble on his chin and black smudges under his eyes betrayed him.
