“You all looked suited up, so let me just give you a little food for thought,” the XO said, then walked along in front of them. “Once out the torpedo doors, you are on your own. We cannot and will not come about no matter what happens.”
No great surprise there. Brandt nodded for the man to continue.
“The breech door will close and lock you inside the tube. Then the tube will be flooded with water from our tanks. This water is relatively warm at sixty-five degrees Fahrenheit. With your suits it’ll seem balmy.”
Probably the last time they would feel that way on this mission, Brandt guessed.
“Then the muzzle doors will open. Once we effectively ‘make contact’ with the Chinese sub...” The XO paused long enough to send a scathing glare at Lopez. “We will activate the water ram, pretty much hurling you out of the tube at twelve Gs.”
Brandt’s eyes wandered to Rebecca, who was looking paler by the second. He wanted to comfort her that given Lopez’s driving they’d probably experienced at least eight Gs, however the XO did not seem too keen on holding up the show for one woman.
“The Gs aren’t the problem though,” the XO continued. “It is the temperature shock. The water out there is a hair below forty-three degrees Fahrenheit. That cold water is going to hit you like a fat girl’s slap.”
“The dive reflex,” Davidson added, clearly trying to score some freaking brownie points. Only by raising Svengurd from the grave could Davidson ever hope to redeem himself in Brandt’s eyes.
The XO nodded, not knowing or not caring about the tension between Brandt and Davidson. “That’s right. In this cold of water our mammalian instincts kick in and all of our blood gets shunted from our skin, limbs, and gut, forcing it to our core—our heart and brains. Remember to trust your suits. They will warm you...eventually.”
Rebecca’s face drained of color as she stood awkwardly, looking like it took everything she had not to tip over backward from the weight of her oxygen tanks. Seldom had he seen her appear so utterly vulnerable. She was being thrown into the deep water, literally, and she knew it.
“So don’t be surprised if you briefly lose feeling in your extremities and your heartbeat flutters or even temporarily stops. It is just water shock.”
“Just,” Harvish snorted, however he quickly looked contrite as the XO’s glare shifted from Lopez to the point man.
“Outside the port, you’ve got to strike upward as soon as you can. We’re moving at twenty-five knots, and if you aren’t out of our wake by the time we pass, you could get sucked into our propeller’s cavitation.”
The XO stared Harvish down, almost seeming to challenge the point man to joke about that. Not even Harvish attempted humor in being sliced to death by your own sub.
“After you’ve cleared the sub, you’ve got a fifteen-minute window to get to the surface and warm up, otherwise...well, deaths have occurred in untrained, out of shape divers...” The XO looked to Davidson and then Rebecca. “Within five minutes.”
Great. That’s all Brandt needed. Rebecca all the more freaked out.
“Got it,” Brandt replied. The XO moved off to prep the ship for their little “bump” maneuver.
“Besides,” Harvish mumbled, apparently trying to get himself out of the hole he dug by using a spade, “it’s less than a hundred feet up. Less than even a recreational deep dive.”
The XO turned on his heel. Aiming his full disdain on the point man. “Out here? In the blue? We don’t take anything for granted. I’d advise you do the same.”
“We will,” Brandt assured the man while for the eighteenth hundredth time wondering why in the hell the Den had assigned him Harvish. “We’re ready to ship out on your mark.”
“It’s my mark then,” the XO said. “Load up.”
Rebecca stood amongst the men as the XO closed the breech door. The clang of the metal lock sent a shiver down each and every vertebra. They were really doing this. She was really doing this.
Trying to shift her feet nearly tipped her over as she caught the edge of her fin. Davidson steadied her. Just call her a walrus at a waltz.
“We’re going to be radio silent,” Davidson reminded her as water rushed in from ports on the side of the tube. “Let’s get your face mask cinched down.”
He turned a knob at the base of her face mask until he was satisfied. Water swirled around their knees as Davidson pulled his mask over his own face.
Even though every square inch of her body was covered either in dry suit or mask, Rebecca couldn’t shake the feeling that she was stark naked. Exposed. And if that was how she felt in this tight torpedo tube, how was she going to feel outside? Out in the ocean?
Forget needing water to go into shock. Rebecca feared her body was way ahead of the curve.
Then the water rose to her hips, giving her a bit of buoyancy. Soon the water lifted her as it rose to their chests. She fought panic as the water level climbed to her neck. Against all good reason, Rebecca tilted her chin up trying to keep her face above the water line for as long as possible.
Davidson tapped her faceplate and mouthed, “Breathe.”
Not so much because she felt calmer, but more because the water sloshed over her head, Rebecca trusted her face mask and took in a breath. Air, sweet air rushed to her lungs. Now that she was completely submerged, Rebecca felt the panic abate. And the XO had been right. The water was a bit balmy. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.
Then the outer door to the torpedo tube opened. And since they were going a good twenty knots, the ocean water pushed in against them, shoving them all back toward the breech door. Her arm lashed out, trying to right herself.
A strong hand caught her under the elbow and brought her level with him.
Brandt. Not even the plastic between them could dull the blue in his eyes. Their bodies were crushed together as the ocean demanded entry into their little tube. The rest of the men were plastered against the breech door.
The submarine turned abruptly to port, decelerating rapidly. The Chinese sub must have been close because it was only a few more moments before a loud, high metal-on-metal screeching set her teeth on edge. Before she could even process the notion that they had in fact just “bumped” the Chinese submarine, a whirring grew until the sound filled not just her head but her marrow.
Then the “water ram” did just that. An enormous surge of water flooded the compartment. Every bone rattled as the force of the water shoved them forward. Arms wrapped around her, keeping her close as they streaked past the doors.
Just as quickly as the water ram started, it stopped. They hung there as the submarine continued its turn.
Cold crushed her in its grip as Brandt released her.
Rebecca wanted to scream, but couldn’t get the air out of her lungs. She wanted to flail, but couldn’t move. She wanted to live, but couldn’t get her heart to beat.
Brandt forced himself to suck in a breath. Hitting the North Sea’s cold water had been like a kick to the chest. Luckily, Brandt had survived enough kicks to the chest to know this one really wasn’t that bad.
Rebecca, on the other hand, was floating downward, her arms out to her sides like a paralyzed mannequin. He kicked hard, catching up to her. Wrapping his arm around her waist, Brandt swam toward the surface. Talli, Davidson, and Harvish bringing up the rear. All heading toward the early morning light of the surface. The only one lingering was Lopez.
Bringing their faceplates together, Brandt took a huge breath, then let it out, forcing bubbles to surround them. Still kicking he locked eyes with Rebecca. He breathed in and then out. She shook her head, her lips pressed together. Panic etched in the edges. Brandt took another breath and let it out with force.
You can do this, Rebecca. Forget the cold. Forget everything but my breathing.
In a wrenching, painful effort, she took a breath. Her teeth chattered as her whole body shivered against him. He too had to forget everything but his breathing. Her proximity, even in the North Sea, even with
her panicked, threatened to undo his vows.
Another breath and some of the tension loosened from her features. A third breath was almost normal. Still she didn’t seem able to help him get her to the surface. He found the valve to her buoyancy compensator and blasted more air into the vest. They gained speed, passing Lopez, who gave a thumbs-up as their submarine pulled away.
They had avoided the cavitation. They were clear. Now just to get her onto the trawler and—
A glint of silver diverted his attention. What the hell? They were well out into international waters. Then another glint, then another. Something metal caught the morning sun. Above them the other men scattered to the side as dozens of such glints splashed into the water.
No, Brandt thought, but his wishing it not to be did not make the hooks go away.
To keep their cover, even CIA-managed fishing boats still had to...fish. And clearly this boat, expecting a submarine to surface, was biding its time doing just that, long-line fishing. Sending out a string of hooks behind them as they slowly moved through the water.
Rebecca patted his shoulder. The question on her tear-streaked face clear. “What’s happening?”
Before he could begin to pantomime the answer, one of those damned silver glints caught hold of Rebecca’s buoyancy vest, digging into the rubber. Her eyes dilated as she struggled against the tug. Brandt shook his head sharply. That was the last thing they needed her doing. If that hook cut the tubing...
It wasn’t Rebecca’s movement though but the boat’s sudden acceleration that tore the sharp hook through her vest. Air bubbled from the breach. Brandt struggled to keep hold of her as another set of hooks sliced through the water, catching the membrane of her dry suit.
His hand lashed out, grabbing the lines attached to the hooks, trying desperately to keep the tension off the thin suit. Maybe, just maybe, if they got lucky he could allow the boat to drag them to the surface.
At first only tiny bubbles escaped from tiny nicks in the fabric, then they burst from the suit, tears zigzagging their way across her body. Forget forward motion. Forget surfacing. Brandt was struggling to keep her from sinking. His frigid hands betrayed him as Rebecca slipped from his grasp.
With absolutely no buoyancy, Rebecca plunged in the dark water. He’d never get to her in time by just swimming. He didn’t even have time to unfasten all the belts and locks. Pulling a knife from his belt, Brandt slashed his vest and weight belt off, then sliced his dry suit.
Instantly he too dropped like a rock.
Now to save Rebecca before they both froze to death.
Gasping, Rebecca struggled to keep breathing. Forty-three degrees should have been nothing to a girl raised in Michigan. But forty-three degrees in water? It was like an ice bath. Her fingers fumbled trying to unhook her damned weight belt as the water went from a bright clear blue to a darker navy.
Water rushed into the tears of her dry suit, plummeting her temperature. If she didn’t find a way to get some weight off of her...forget five minutes, she’d be crushed within seconds.
Fear fueled her muscles. She found the strap to the weights, but it was tucked in tightly to her belt. Really? Seriously? That predive checklist was killing her. Literally. Then a figure engulfed her. They were still sinking, but they were together.
Brandt’s hands coursed over her body, finding the weight belt. A blade cut the strap. Still they sank though. No matter how hard they both kicked, they made no headway. And she honestly didn’t know how much longer she could continue to swim. Her legs felt like two huge thunder thighs popsicles. Brandt must have realized the same thing.
Holding her with one hand, he used the other hand to take the knife and cut off his oxygen tank.
“No!” she cried, but it was already done.
The action did cut their drag though. They actually started swimming in the right direction. The direction of light. Of life.
Then she felt something under her flipper. What in the heck could be under her flipper?
She risked a glance down to find a wide, black vessel passing beneath them. The Chinese submarine. Her flipper touched the cold metal, dragging along the hull. Brandt put his hand on her thigh, quieting her kicking as he too stopped swimming. They settled onto the surface of the sub, sliding along its length.
Following Brandt’s lead, Rebecca crouched down. He held up his fingers. Three. Two. One. Together they launched off the submarine. The action propelling them upward. Finally.
And a good thing too. Brandt’s cheeks blotched as his body ran out of oxygen.
They were going to make it to the surface quickly. They had to.
Wait. Were they moving sideways? In the water it was so damned hard to tell. As Brandt’s eyes got larger, Rebecca realized she wasn’t imagining things. The Chinese sub must have passed under them, catching them in its propeller’s cavitation. With more and more force they were drawn to the spinning propeller that slashed through the water.
And she could feel Brandt getting weaker and weaker. Realizing that she was never going to get them out of this mess, she used the last of her strength to release her face mask.
Splotches of light danced in front of her as the cold shocked her eyes. Her faceplate floated between her and Brandt. As darkness edged into her vision, bringing her vision down to a near pinpoint, she locked eyes with the man she had thought she was going to marry.
At least her last sight would be a handsome one.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Brandt snatched Rebecca’s face mask, switching it out with his own. Taking in five quick breaths, he reoxygenated his lungs, kicking, swimming, fighting the drag of the cavitation. But those damn blades just kept whirling, pulling them into their deadly range.
Rebecca hung limp in his arms, her face an ashen white.
No. It wasn’t ending like this, damn it.
Gulping precious oxygen, he redoubled his efforts. Fuck the cold. Fuck the fact he couldn’t feel his feet anymore. Fuck the Chinese submarine.
No matter the strain he put on his ligaments, nearly tearing them, the cavitation was winning. He only slowed the inevitable. Still he couldn’t give up. Brandt twisted in the water so that he faced the submarine. He’d still be kicking when the propellers chewed into him. Which looked like it was only two seconds off.
Then a hand was at the back of his dry suit. Then another.
Rapidly they backed out of the cavitation until it felt like a switch cut off and the propeller’s twirl no longer ruled his life. He looked over his shoulder to find Lopez towing them upward at faster and faster speeds.
He removed the face mask, fitting it back onto Rebecca’s face and then clearing the water out. Brandt shook her, trying to get her to take a breath. Taking his knuckles, he rubbed her chest as Lopez dragged them closer and closer to the surface.
Still she didn’t breathe. He put his ear against her chest. A heartbeat then no other. That was okay, Brandt tried to reassure himself. Hypothermia sometimes was your best friend. It preserved brain tissue. It held the body in a type of suspended animation. It actually saved lives.
Right?
Damn right.
Davidson searched the surface of the rolling ocean as his hand stanched the bleeding from his arm. One of the fishhooks dug in deep enough to taste flesh. The pain was the last thing on his mind though. Brandt and Rebecca definitely should have been up by now. Lopez, on the other hand, he wasn’t worried about. The corporal had probably hitched a ride on the Chinese sub all the way back to Beijing.
“There!” Talli yelled, pointing starboard. Three figures bobbed to the surface.
The captain of the boat must have heard as he turned the boat, gunning the engines toward the swimmers. No, not all of them were swimming. One’s head lolled to the side.
Davidson scrambled down the deck to the stairs that led to the water. Harvish and Talli weren’t far behind as the boat pulled up to the figures.
Brandt half lifted Rebecca out of the water. “She’s not breathing,
” he chattered. Not sounding too well himself.
“We’ve got to get her below deck,” Davidson urged as the wind whipped from an approaching storm. He took Rebecca’s shoulders. Talli grabbed her feet, and they were off. Backing down the steps toward the crew’s quarters, Davidson watched her still features through her faceplate. Her face so white that it seemed someone had applied pancake makeup. And her lips? A grayish blue.
He noticed the multiple tears to the membrane dry suit. The hooks must have compromised her suit. Which accounted for the hypothermia, but the severe shock? That had to have come from somewhere else.
When they got to the cot, Davidson laid her down on her side so he could unhook her equipment. He tossed the buoyancy jacket to the side but kept the oxygen tank nearby and the face mask on.
“Rebecca,” he urged, rubbing her sternum. “You’ve got to breathe.”
“She’s not even shivering,” Talli commented.
The Arab was right. Not a good sign. Despite the fact Davidson knew her to be an extremely modest person—Rebecca considered a V-necked T-shirt a bit too revealing—he began pulling the remnants of the dry suit and undersuit off.
“Get some more blankets,” he instructed Talli. Then he turned to Harvish. “See if they don’t have some heat packs.”
Both men hurried off to perform their tasks, which were vital, however Davidson had an ulterior motive. They should not see Rebecca like this. He tried to look away as much as possible as he stripped her down to her brassiere and panties. Thank goodness she was not a thong kind of girl.
Rapidly he covered her with the thin blanket he had available. Davidson rubbed up and down her arms and legs, trying to get her circulation restarted. He felt for a pulse. Each heartbeat spaced over the course of ten seconds. Still she wasn’t breathing. He removed the mask, pinched her nose, and gave her a breath. Her chest rose and fell.
Talli returned, handing him a short stack of just two other blankets. “This is all they had.”
Betrayed 02 - Havoc Page 7
