Navy SEALs, including ex-SEALs, had a reputation for being a little crazy. Clay expected they had just that reputation in Emerson’s mind. He looked to his right where Caesare was holding a manual up and verifying the locations of the various instruments. “How does your side look?”
Caesare shrugged. “Good. Pretty straight forward actually.” He looked to the left side. “How about you?”
Clay nodded. “Not bad.” He gripped the control stick in front of him. “Stick will take a little getting used to.”
“We’ve got,” Caesare looked back over his shoulder at a digital read-out behind them, “a full charge which should give us about a twenty to thirty mile range.” He looked forward again. “We also have full oxygen which should last well beyond that, especially without two more sets of lungs behind us. I think we’re about ready.”
Clay reached up and tested the hatch seal by trying to turn the large metal wheel. He then moved the microphone on his headset closer to his mouth. “Pathfinder, this is ‘Saint Bernard.’”
“Go ahead Saint Bernard,” came Tay’s voice through their headphones.
“We are checked out and ready to launch,” Clay said.
“Roger that. Release at will.”
With a quick nod, Clay reached up to a large red handle above them and wrapped his hand through. “Releasing now,” he said and pulled down hard. There was only a slight dip when the sub detached from the arm, since it was already floating on the surface under its own buoyancy. The sub began to roll to the right just as Caesare engaged the main motor, giving it instant propulsion and causing the roll to correct itself. As the small sub surged forward, the waves that were lapping across the front, bubbled window suddenly rushed up and over the top causing the front to dip slightly. Clay kept his right hand on the stick and slowly inched it forward increasing their speed. He then lowered the small flaps on the tail which increased their dive angle, and the K-955 smoothly slipped below the surface.
“Feels good,” remarked Clay.
“Good,” said Caesare, looking down as his notebook. “We need a heading of 131 degrees.”
Clay turned until the directional indicator matched.
“At this rate,” continued Caesare, “we should reach the bottom in about eight minutes.”
The bottom of the Caribbean Sea, or at least this part of it, was rather boring. As many of the coral reefs passed beneath them, so did vast stretches of white fields of sand. Past ninety feet deep, Caesare activated the ultra-bright LEDs ringing the front of the sub so they could see further in front of them. The K-955 skimmed over several shelves which dropped below into patches of dark coral and more of the large fields of sand.
Thirty minutes later something appeared on the small green screen in front of Caesare. “Looks like we have a large object a few degrees off to port. About three hundred yards ahead.”
Clay gave a gentle turn and inched off the throttle, allowing the sub to slow. He continued forward at a reduced speed and eased up completely as the object got closer and closer to the center of Caesare’s screen.
“Just about on it…” he said slowly. “Okay, reverse throttle and stop.”
The tiny sub slowed to a gentle stop. Both men looked forward through the small bubble, peering closely at the sandy bottom. Several patches of green plant life poked up and were scattered randomly around them. They slowly waved back and forth in the ocean’s gentle current. Clay gave the stick a tiny tap and inched the craft forward.
Caesare stretched to look out to the side. “We should be right on top of it.”
“I see something,” said Clay. “He dipped the front forward and pushed a button which forced a strong burst of current out from just beneath the sub’s belly. The current pushed a large amount of sand and soil away but caused a cloud to temporarily envelop the area. They waited patiently as it dispersed. Just below them was a very large and rusted metal anchor.”
“Crap.” Caesare leaned back in his seat. “We’re oh for four.”
“Well on the bright side at least the Triton should be easy to spot,” Clay said. “Even if it drove itself head first into the sand it should still be sticking out like a sore thumb.”
“What a relief,” Caesare said sarcastically as he wiped off some condensation from the window in front of him. “You know-” he was suddenly cut off when their sub rocked from side to side. “What was that?”
Clay shook his head. “I don’t know.” He leaned forward and looked out the window at the brightly lit sand.
“Are we in a cross current?”
Clay frowned. “At this depth, I doubt it.” Outside the sub, the sand remained still. The small cloud created by the sub a few minutes earlier had almost completely settled. Their sub rocked again, harder.
“Whoa!” Caesare said bracing himself against the side window and ceiling of the sub. He and Clay looked at each other. “Are you sure?”
Clay was puzzled. He grabbed the handle of the forward exterior light and rotated it around in front of them. He spotted some coral ahead and inched the sub forward. The sub glided to within fifty feet of coral reef covered by a variety of plant life, some of which were long tendril shaped flutes jutting up from the rock base. “Look.”
Caesare followed his gaze through the front window and out to the plants beyond. “They’re barely moving.”
“Exactly.”
“Strange.” Caesare looked out the side window and back behind them. Maybe we’re in some kind of channel. He turned back around when the small green screen beeped again. Another object was showing on the radar like screen. “Got another one. Could this be lucky number five?”
They sped up and glided over the coral then down the other side and across another patch of sand.
“A few degrees north,” Caesare said.
Ahead, a larger ridge of coral rose above the sand which Clay skirted and angled away to starboard. Something in the distance reflected the sub’s bright light which prompted Clay to ease up on the stick. “This one isn’t buried,” he said. As they neared, the object became brighter indicating a highly reflective material or a relatively clean surface.
“Looks about the right size.”
“It sure does.” Clay let off the stick again to let the water slow the sub’s speed to a crawl. After several more seconds, the unmistakable shape of the Triton II materialized in front of them with its nose deep in the sand.
“Thar she blows!” declared Caesare.
Clay nodded. “Thank god. I was beginning to have my doubts.” Something occurred to him and he turned to Caesare. “You know what this means, don’t you?”
“Yeah, we’ll be headed back tonight!”
“No,” Clay said, “the dolphins were right. We found it…” he looked at the GPS coordinates, “not more than a quarter mile from where they said it was. This validates the team’s translation system.”
“That’s true,” Caesare nodded. “Wait.” he said with a raised eyebrow. “Did somebody claim it didn’t work?”
“I forgot to tell you that part.” Clay inched up to the Triton and pulled back on the stick to stop them completely. “Stevas tried pretty hard to discredit them. It seems their information didn’t necessarily mesh which his larger view.”
“You’re kidding. What did he say?”
“Unfortunately, I can’t repeat the conversation. Let’s just say that he is aggressively considering our options.”
Caesare shook his head. “How did that guy ever make it to that position? Makes me really doubt the system sometimes.” He turned on another set of lights flooding the area directly below and grabbed the handle of their craft’s articulating arm. He gave Clay a smile. “Shall we make our pickup?”
Slowly from underneath the submersible, a long articulating arm unfolded and extended outward. Caesare controlled it from inside the sub, his fingers wrapped around and through the complex handle. The thin metal arm stretched out in front of the window reaching for the Triton sitting silently in the sand.
“Easy does it,” Caesare mumbled to himself.
Clay kept his hand steady on the stick, trying to maintain perfect buoyancy and keep the sub as still as possible.
The long, crab-shaped claw on the end of the arm approached the rear end of the Triton. Caesare slowly twisted his handle which caused the claw to twist in the same direction. He pushed it forward again and tried to loop the larger half of the claw under the Triton’s propeller. After several attempts, he finally managed to wrap the claw up through a small gap near the rear stabilizing fin. Tightening his grip caused the claw to close and grab the Triton’s tail. Very slowly, he pulled on the handle simultaneously retracting the metal arm. The Triton did not move. Caesare pulled harder, careful not to loosen his grip. The Triton still did not move.
Clay continued watching his instruments and tried to keep the K-955 still.
“Damn,” said Caesare, “this thing really managed to burrow itself in.” He pulled harder and finally the sand surrounding the buried end of Triton began to move. More of the sand fell away and the Triton came free. The rest of the sand slowly fell away as it slid out.
“Nice,” said Clay. “Now bring it in and we-” suddenly their sub shook violently and a powerful surge sent them and the sub smashing into the mound of sand. “What the hell?!” Clay struggled to regain control. He pulled back on the stick reversing the motor but the craft was dragging backward. Clay looked out and then up through a small window on top. “What the hell is wrong with our buoyancy?” He looked at the instruments. “Are we taking in water?” Clay was referring to the K-955’s buoyancy tanks which filled with water to increase the sub’s underwater weight and allow it to descend. To rise, the pilot would inject high pressure air into the tanks, forcing some of the heavy water out and increasing the craft’s buoyancy. Neutral buoyancy was that combination of air and water that provided the perfect weight and allowed the craft to remain at a desired level. Clay had suddenly lost control of it. He could barely move the sub which now felt stuck to the sandy bottom. He pushed a button above the control stick, increasing the air and decreasing their weight. The hiss of the high pressure air could be heard from below and outside the cockpit.
Caesare quickly shifted from side to side as they hit the ground and rolled sideways. He tried to brace himself with his only free hand, the other still on the articulating arm’s handle. He was trying desperately not to lose his grip on the Triton which was bobbing back and forth like a giant fish trying to escape his clutch. His forearm tightened while he squeezed as hard as he could.
Clay jammed the control stick back and forth trying to keep the craft from dragging. They were becoming more buoyant but it was too slow. Something caught Clay’s eye from above. He looked up into the darkened water, the sunlight from above now only a dull pinpoint far above them. He kept looking until he saw it again. “This isn’t a current,” he said to Caesare. “I think we have company.”
“What?!” Caesare twisted his head trying unsuccessfully to look through the small window above. “What is it?!”
“I don’t know,” said Clay. Again, they were suddenly slammed back against the ocean bottom. The K-955 groaned under the impact with a loud metal reverberation behind them. He looked up again just as a giant shadow passed above them. “Whatever it is, it’s big.”
“We’ve got to get out of here.” Caesare looked at Clay. “Do we drop the Triton?”
“No way,” Clay’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not going down for this thing again. Hold on!” He pushed the stick forward and slammed his other hand down on the button, pushing more water out of the tanks in a loud rush of pressurized air. Almost immediately, the sub bounced up from the sand and the motor whirled at full throttle sending up a cloud behind them. The K-955 zipped forward, its nose pointed to the surface.
Something hit the sub, this time causing it to roll hard to one side. Clay quickly rolled against it to compensate and managed to level them back out, his hand still jamming the stick as far forward as possible.
“Oh my god,” said Caesare looking out the side window. “It’s a sperm whale!”
“Here? Are you kidding?”
“Not kidding,” Caesare said with a pause. “And there are two of them!”
Clay practically leaned on the stick, now trying to get every last ounce of speed from the sub’s motors.
“They’re coming at us!” yelled Caesare.
Suddenly, the K-955 was slammed sideways causing it to roll completely over. Clay tried to counter the movement but realized that the roll had too much momentum. He instead moved the stick back, allowing them to roll with the impact. As they came around, he compensated again and managed to keep them on an upward course.
“Clay,” Caesare said quietly.
“You don’t have to whisper Steve, they’re not going to hear you,” Clay replied, looking at their depth gauge. They were still almost eighty feet from the surface.
“Clay,” Caesare said again.
Clay looked at Caesare who was staring at him. He turned to show Clay the side window. Clay’s eyes opened wide when he saw the huge dent in the side of the hull. What was far more critical however, was the giant crack in the window, with water streaming down the inside wall. It was a major leak that would scare anyone even at a shallow depth. The strength of the hull was seriously compromised, and the thick Plexiglas window was ruptured. If it collapsed entirely, their inside pressure would be lost and the torrent of incoming sea water would drown them within seconds. Clay and Caesare both knew their only hope was in that tiny window holding together. They also knew that they would not survive another impact.
Clay looked back at Caesare. “Blow the tanks.”
Caesare flipped up a clear cover and slammed his fist against the large emergency button labeled ‘Emergency Discharge’. The sub shook violently as four charges exploded, and the large buoyancy tanks instantly jettisoned from the hull and fell outward. Losing the extra weight of the tanks, along with the upward force of the charges, accelerated the sub’s ascent again and they rose toward the surface. The explosion caused the leak in the window to open wider, sending in a much larger flood of water which was quickly inching up past their shins. Caesare looked down and quickly switched hands to maintain his grip on the Triton. “We’d better hurry.”
Clay was glancing back and forth between their depth gauge and the bright blue water above. The large shadow of Emerson’s Pathfinder could be seen overhead. The sub quickly passed fifty feet and continued to race toward the surface.
Caesare looked repeatedly through the remaining windows. “I can’t see them!” He tried to look through the broken window but could not make out anything through the distortion. “No idea where they are.”
Clay stared at the gauge and noticed their ascent beginning to slow.
Caesare saw something was wrong. “What is it?”
“We’re slowing,” Clay said. “The incoming water is increasing our weight again.”
Caesare unbuckled himself and slid out of his seat, still maintaining a grip on the handle in front of him. He twisted past Clay and reached into the rear of the cockpit. He felt back and forth below the water. “No oxygen tanks.” He knew they could not open the top hatch until they reached the surface since the ocean water would make it far too heavy to push up. Hell even if they could they would drown under the massive deluge of water which would make the cracked window look like a trickle.
The sub’s upward momentum continued to slow as it passed 40 feet and the incoming water reached their laps.
Above them in the communications room of the Pathfinder, Captain Emerson and several of his crew were huddled around a large sonar display. The speakerphone was on transmitting everything Clay and Caesare were saying.
“They’re slowing,” Tay said. He was sitting in the chair in front of Emerson.
“How fast are they moving?”
“About 10 feet per minute but slowing fast.”
“Anything else they can jettis
on?” Emerson asked.
Tay shook his head. “Not from the inside.”
Another crewmember stood to the side, urgently searching through the K-955’s giant manual.
Emerson stood up and turned to Lightfoot who was standing just behind him. “We have to do something.”
Lightfoot stared at the captain who motioned outside. “Yes sir!” With that, they both quickly darted out of the room and ran toward the back of the ship.
The water inside the sub was at chest level and rising fast, as the increasing amount of water filled the ever shrinking space in the cockpit.
Tay’s voice crackled over the speaker. “Guys, it looks like there should be spare breathers built into a side panel of your seats!” Tay leaned over and looked at the manual being held by his crewmember. “On the right side.”
Caesare switched hands again on the large handle and reached around to examine his seat. Only able to feel the tip, he slid his hand up and down beneath the water feeling for a clasp. He found a lip in the metal and quickly pulled it up. The panel flipped only partially open due to the volume of the water around it. Caesare reached back, yanked it off, and felt inside. He gripped the small metal canister and wiggled it out. The small pony tank was approximately twelve inches long and had a green rubber mouthpiece on top. Caesare handed it to Clay and quickly extracted the second bottle from Clay’s seat.
“Where are the whales?”
Caesare looked out through the two windows still above the waterline. “Can’t see them over here.” He looked at Clay. “What’s the plan?”
Clay frowned. He desperately pushed a few times on the stick. There was nothing left. The twin motors were at maximum propulsion trying to push them forward against the increasing weight of the sub. “We’re barely moving. This is as far as we’re going to get.” He looked at the gauge. “Twenty-one feet.” Clay looked up through the top window. The huge shadow of the Pathfinder loomed over them. He looked at Caesare and held up his tiny oxygen tank. “Well, these should give us,” he shrugged, “ten minutes? If we wait for the water to fill the cockpit and equalize the pressure, we should be able to get the hatch open and make a swim for it.”
Breakthrough Page 16
