The forward torpedo tubes were armed and Rogers fired as soon as they were within range.
“The Gates are shrinking,” Foreman reported.
“I can feel it changing,” Sin Fen spoke into the satellite phone. Chelsea was at her side, snout raised in the air, also sensing the difference.
“Do you have contact with Dane?” Foreman asked.
Sin Fen reached out to the west, but there was nothing. “He’s not there. Or he’s not alive.”
“Damnit, we need him. He stopped this but I don’t think we’ve seen the end of it. We need to know what happened and we need him.”
Then Sin Fen caught the faintest of touches, like a hair against her skin. “He’s alive.”
“Where?”
Sin Fen focused. She briefly saw what Dane saw. “He’s on the Scorpion in the Bermuda Triangle!”
“The Scorpion is still moving, sir,” Sills reported
“What’s the readings?” Rogers asked.
“Radiation is down. The Gate is closing in on itself, but both the Scorpion and the large contact are still inside.”
“Range to Scorpion?” Rogers asked.
“Two kilometers and closing.”
“Can we talk to them?”
Sills ran a hand though his hair. “In ‘68 their radios were much different than what we use. They-”
“Can we talk to them?”
“I’ll try, sir.”
“You’ll be all right,” Dane told Freed as he started to follow the sailor forward. He checked the improvised tourniquet he had put on the man’s arm. “I’ll get the ship’s doctor.”
The sailor was still staring, not so much at them, but at the huge severed snake’s head that was oozing black blood. “Who are you?”
“Take me to your captain,” Dane placed a hand on the man’s shoulder and pressed with his mind into the other’s.
“Aye-aye, sir.”
The sailor turned and went through the hatch, Dane following. The next compartment was the galley and they passed a couple of sailors, then they were in the sub’s control room.
Men were working furiously, commands were being yelled.
A man in his mid-30s stood in the center, next to the periscope. He had the eagle of a Navy Captain on his collar. He saw Dane and paused in mid-command.
“Who are you?”
“Sir, there’s no time,” Dane said. “We have to get out of here!”
“What is going on?” Captain Bateman. “My reactor went off-line and we’ve lost all contact with our surface-”
“Sir!” a man called out. “I have radio contact with a submarine calling itself the USS Wyoming.”
“There is no USS Wyoming,” Captain Bateman. “Put it on the speaker.”
There was a crackle, then a voice came out of the speaker. “This is Captain Rogers of the USS Wyoming. You must take a heading of 270 degrees immediately at the fastest speed possible. You are in grave danger.”
“Identify yourself,” Captain Bateman demanded. “I’ve never heard of your ship.”
“We don’t have time,” Rogers replied. “You’ve been missing for forty years and if you don’t start moving you are going to be missing again!”
Bateman turned toward Dane and stared at him in shock.
“It’s true,” Dane said. “You’ve been gone for over forty years.”
“It can’t be,” Bateman shook his head. “It’s 1968.”
“You entered a Gate,” Dane said. “You know that. You were working for Foreman and you entered something very strange.” Dane stepped forward and grabbed Bateman on the shoulders. “Captain, you have to save your ship. A heading of 270 degrees. Now!”
Bateman shook his head, but he yelled to the helmsman. “Two-Seven-Zero degrees. Flank speed.”
“Torpedoes are tracking,” Sills was looking a computer screen that relayed the firing data. “Torpedoes at impact.”
Rogers waited as his ship closed on the Scorpion. He knew how long it would take for the sound of the explosion to travel through the water. The seconds passed by. He raised an eyebrow at Sills.
“We’re passed time, sir. They all must have missed.”
“How could we have missed something six times bigger than a Typhoon?” Rogers demanded.
“What happened to us?” Bateman demanded.
Dane was the focus of every man in the control room.
“I don’t know,” Dane answered. “We have to get out of here and then we can try to figure it out.”
“Object is less than a klick away.”
“How far to the Scorpion?”
“Eight hundred meters. The Scorpion is underway. Heading, 270 degrees.”
“Slow to one third,” Rogers ordered. “Bring us about, hard to port.” Rogers was watching the symbol representing the Scorpion on his screen and picturing the relative positions of his sub and the other one in his mind.
“Contact is closing on Scorpion again.”
“Sir!” the radio man held up a handset.
Rogers took it. “Yes?”
“This is Foreman. You must save the Scorpion at all costs. Is that clear?”
“Clear.” Rogers handed the set back. “Great.” He turned to Sills. “How long before the Scorpion is clear of the Bermuda Triangle Gate at the rate she’s moving?”
Sills punched into his keyboard. “A minute and twenty seconds.”
“And until the large contact closes on her?”
Sills had that number ready. “Forty-five seconds.”
“Put us between the two.”
“Aye-aye, sir.”
“How long will that take?”
“Thirty seconds.”
Rogers glanced to his side. “Chaplain, I’m afraid you need to pray faster.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The Wyoming slid between the Scorpion and the large contact it had on its screens. The contact was a gigantic sphere, over a mile and a half wide, the surface a dull black, but obviously made of some sort of metal. In the front center, a huge doorway spiraled open, over a hundred meters wide.
The sphere was on course for the Scorpion, but the Wyoming was directly in the way. The sphere slowed as the Wyoming slid into the opening.
“The Scorpion is appearing on SOSUS,” Foreman was listening in to the report from Naval Headquarters. “It’s clear of the Gate! Surfacing!”
Foreman picked up the phone. “Conners, what’s the latest on the Bermuda Triangle Gate?”
“It’s still shrinking,” she reported. “At an even faster rate.”
“Angkor Gate?” he asked.
“It’s down to a small area, about six kilometers wide and getting smaller.”
Captain Bateman shoved the hatch aside and climbed, Dane right behind him. Dane blinked in the bright sunlight. He looked about. To the rear of the Scorpion he could see the mist, but it was getting further away with every passing second, the storm closing in on itself.
Carpenter, Beasley, Freed and Ariana joined him. They looked in the same direction.
“Are we safe?” Freed asked.
Dane nodded. “For now.”