Professor’s movements were becoming more and more frenzied, verging on lack of control, but still he swam upward. Maddock noticed he was only using one arm to stroke, and figured his other must have been injured while attempt to free himself. As they ascended within the confines of the wreck, Maddock could tell they were almost to the top of the structure.
His fear ballooned as they made the last few feet to the opening — would it be wide enough? Because if not… he was pretty sure the U.S. Navy would be out two SEALs.
Maddock reached out for the jagged line of light and hooked his right hand over the lip and pulled himself up. Ironically he was able to fit through only because he wasn’t wearing a tank. He shimmied through, disregarding the scraping of rusted metal on his drysuit, gazing longingly at the hazy white light above. But he had to make sure Professor was still on track. He looked back down and was relieved to see his friend’s blurry arm protruding out of the rip in the wreck.
C’mon Professor!
Maddock reached down and gripped his fellow SEAL’s arm and began pulling him up, hoping that the contact would spur him to action, give him hope, remind him that he wasn’t the only one going through this ordeal. Maddock pulled harder and Professor slipped through the uneven seam, his head upturned toward the light.
Maddock turned his attention to their next course of action. His lungs burned badly and he estimated that nearly two minutes had elapsed since he’d last taken a breath, probably three for Professor. The surface seemed impossibly far away, 110 feet above. They would risk the bends ascending directly to it, also, although when you needed to breathe that was the least of your worries. And then a bright, stabbing beam of light caught Maddock’s attention.
He tapped Professor’s shoulder and pointed off to the left, where one of the SDV’s swooped in toward them. Maddock rejoiced at the sight of the vehicle, for it represented real hope. Not because the pilot might transport them to the surface faster, because even that might not be quick enough, but because of what the craft carried on board: air. In the form of two scuba cylinders in compartments used for buoyancy control. The SDV carried an air bladder on each side that could be inflated with compressed air from the tanks in the event that the motor died and the craft needed to ascend. As Maddock yanked on Professor’s arm and kicked toward the SDV, he had a plan. Admittedly, not a good one, but it was all they had.
The tanks. They held breathable air, but there was one major problem. Maddock thought about it as he and Professor neared the oncoming SDV, lungs searing, strange spots forming at the corners of his vision. He knew where to locate the scuba tanks in the SDV, could already visualize opening the door to the compartment that housed them, as he had done during SEAL training more times than he cared to remember. That wasn’t the problem.
The problem was that the tanks were connected to a special valve designed for the vehicle buoyancy system, not to a scuba breathing regulator with a mouthpiece. They would have to be disconnected from that system and then…
Maddock’s thoughts were obliterated by the SDV’s headlight swinging around in his direction and the pilot sounding some kind of horn-like sound device. He could only imagine the pilot’s — he couldn’t see whether it was Yu or Jiminez — horror at seeing the two divers swimming around a hundred feet down without an air supply. On par with seeing something out of a dream, surreal, nightmarish.
Then his hands were clawing at the side of the vehicle, seeking the handholds he knew were there but could not see. He found purchase with first a hand, then a foot, and pulled himself up. He glanced back just once to make certain Professor was still there — he was — and then bent to the task of accessing a scuba tank.
He had no trouble locating the hatch for the buoyancy control compartment. Unlatched it and flipped it open. Felt by rote for the aluminum cylinder he knew would be inside. Found it! He wanted the air it contained so badly that it hurt, but he still had work to do. His hands raced along the tank up to the neck until they clamped onto the valve assembly. With practiced ease now edged with panic, Maddock unscrewed the yoke from the tank valve. He pulled the scuba cylinder free and cracked the valve, releasing air into the water with a bubbly hiss. He knew that the familiar sound would get the point across to Professor as to what they had to do. This was as good as it was going to get; breathing directly from a tank valve. It was possible to do if the amount of flow was not too little nor too high.
Maddock took one pull off the tank and handed it off to the desperate Professor, who hugged it with one hand as he drank in the air. Maddock, meanwhile, lungs still craving so much air despite the single breath, hopped over to the other side of the SDV and opened the compartment there, repeating the process. He felt the SDV begin moving as he disconnected the tank. A few seconds later and he, too, was breathing from his own cylinder. It felt great but he knew their fate was still far from certain. A hundred feet down, no regulator, no mask, no way to communicate about how to structure their decompression stops.
All they could do was find a way to hold on to the tanks while gripping the SDV as the pilot ascended. Maddock knew the pilot would want to get them to the surface as quickly as possible, but the bends was a factor. Maddock had to somehow communicate with him in order to ask him to level off at twenty feet or so for a few minutes to decompress and avoid the dreaded pressure sickness.
Maddock felt around in the buoyancy compartment. He recalled his training days with the vehicles and how some of the instructors would place small spare gear items inside such as an extra pair of fins, or a knife… a mask! The SEAL’s hands instantly recognized the feel of soft rubber and smooth glass. He snatched the object up and knelt on the tank while he slipped the mask over his head. Then he cleared the mask of water, exhaling through his nose until the seawater was forced out of the mask and he could see again. Excellent! Huge advantage. Maddock felt his panic ebb a couple of notches as he picked up his tank and took a couple of deep pulls of air. Maybe there was another mask on Professor’s side?
Maddock got to an upright kneeling position on the side-runner, preparing to hop over to Professor’s side and check for him, when he happened to glance up at the pilot. Who was it, anyway, Yu or Jiminez? The man was hunched over the controls, full scuba gear on including a hood. But wait a minute… Maddock studied the pilot’s gear more carefully. Yu and Jiminez did both wear hoods, but they were all black. This hood had a dark colored stripe — perhaps red, which couldn’t be seen clearly at this depth due to the filtering of shorter wavelengths — and…
Suddenly the pilot turned around to look back at his passengers and Maddock got a look at his face through the mask. First of all it wasn’t the same type of mask, the shape was different. Same type of thing, functionality wise, but a different model. And the face itself — Maddock looked very carefully to be sure. After all, he had known Yu and Jiminez for mere hours. But no. This man was definitely neither of the two U.S. Navy SDV pilots!
Maddock turned away quickly, not wanting the pilot to see the alarm that must be registering on his face, or that he was now wearing a mask. He decided to continue with his original course of action and moved slowly but purposefully to Professor’s side of the SDV. His colleague still hunched on the seat without a facemask, one arm both wrapped around the scuba tank and gripping the edge of the wet sub’s rail. Maddock recalled how he’d been using only one arm for quite some time now and glanced at his other arm to check for injuries.