“I'll buy him a new one if this works.”
“And what exactly is it that you have in mind?” Summer asked, still not sure of his intent.
“Why, just a little bit of leverage, my dear sister. If you'd be so kind as to grab my newfound crowbar with the left mechanical arm, you'll see what I mean.”
Dirk guided the ROV close to the left side of the Starfish, towing the handle with it. Summer then activated the controls of the left mechanical arm and opened its clawlike hand. Working in unison, they brought the two devices together until Summer could securely snatch one end of the handle with the vise-strong claw. Dirk then slackened the ROV cable and slowly backed Snoopy away, unraveling the cable off the free end of the bar. Once clear, he activated the cable spool up and returned Snoopy to the Starfish, securing the ROV in its cradle.
“For a beagle, Snoopy makes for a pretty good retriever,” Summer remarked.
“Let's see now if our mechanical arm can make for a good floor jack,” Dirk replied.
His eyes studied a row of battery ampere gauges on the submarine's control panel. They had spent more than an hour operating the ROV and their power level had been drained to barely thirty percent. Time was running short if they were to have any hope of making it back to the surface on their own.
“Let's do this on one try. Purging tanks,” he said, pushing a pair of buttons that pumped water out of the ballast tank in order to increase buoyancy. He then powered up the main thrusters to the submersible. Summer had meanwhile brought the mechanical arm around the front of the Starfish to its full dexterity and studied the position of the wedged propeller. It would have to be lifted and pushed forward slightly for them to pry themselves away, but there was little space to work the handle in. After leaning the handle against one of the skids and shortening her grip, she was able to work eight inches of the metal bar under the tip of the fallen propeller.
“Ready,” she said tentatively, wiping a sweaty palm on her pant leg. Dirk was also sweating profusely, as the cramped cockpit had grown hot once the air-conditioning was shut down to conserve power.
“Pry us out of here,” Dirk said, his hand at the ready on the thruster controls. With tense anticipation, Summer gently shifted the controls that raised the mechanical arm. Where the hydraulic power of the arm was insufficient to lift the arm on its own, the added leverage of the metal handle prying against the deck was just enough to budge it. Creeping ever so slowly, the propeller blade rose an inch, then two, then a few more. Dirk could feel the rear of the submersible tilt off the deck slightly from the added buoyancy. When Summer had safely jimmied the blade above the height of the front skids, he slammed the power controls to maximum reverse thrust.
There was no immediate blast of power or skyrocketing acceleration by the Starfish but rather just a slight jerk as it backed tail first on the deck. The submersible slid up and away from the grasp of the propeller as the blade slipped down the compressor handle and clanged back to the hangar deck just inches in front of the Starfish's skids.
“Nicely done, sis. What do you say we go get some fresh air?” Dirk said, adjusting the thrusters to raise the Starfish up and out of I-411's hangar.
“I'm with you,” Summer replied with obvious relief.
Almost the second they cleared the walls of the hangar deck, the deep voice of Ryan blew loudly through communication earphones.
“Starfish, this is Sea Rover. Do you read, over,” came a monotonous tone that had obviously been repeating the phrase a thousand times over in the last few hours.
“This is Starfish” Summer responded. “We read you loud and clear. Have initiated ascent, please stand by for recovery.”
“Roger, Starfish” Ryan replied in a suddenly excited pitch. “You have some folks worried up here. Do you need assistance?”
“Negative. We just stubbed our toe down here. All is well; we'll be topside shortly.”
“Copy that. Standing by for recovery.”
Their ascent time, aided by controlled positive buoyancy, was slightly quicker than their descent, and in ten minutes they could make out the glowing bright lights of the Sea Rover's moon pool. The faint outline of the ship appeared as the submersible drew closer and Dirk tweaked the Starfish's thrusters with what little remaining power he had to guide them to the center of the glowing ring of beacons. Dirk and Summer both let out a silent sigh of relief as they popped through the hole in the ship's bottom and bobbed to the surface of the pool. Morgan, Ryan, and a half-dozen crew members ringed the moon pool and watched intently as the Starfish was plucked from the water by a hoist and lowered gently to the deck. Dirk powered down the submersible as Summer opened the rear hatch and the two climbed out for a grateful breath of fresh air.
“We were afraid you got lost down there,” Morgan smiled, then looked quizzically at the compressor handle that was still lodged in the grip of the left mechanical arm.
“That's our walking stick,” Summer explained. “We took a walk where we ought not to have gone and had a little trouble getting back out.”
“Well,” Morgan asked, unable to refrain from the other concern on his mind, “what did you find?”
“Two cartons of eggs waiting to be delivered,” Dirk said with a grin.
The Sea Rover's crew worked feverishly to repair the Starfish's mechanical arm and replenish the submersible's drained batteries while Dirk, Summer, and Morgan formulated a salvage strategy. Reviewing the video footage recorded by Snoopy, they calculated the exact position in the sub's hangar where the bomb crates were situated. Studying the video closely, they determined that the hangar's bulkhead walls were constructed in ten-foot sections.
“We should be able to cut through the original seams and lift out a ten-foot piece of bulkhead alongside the pontoons,” Dirk said, tapping a frozen video image with a pencil. “The Starfish is eight feet wide, so that should give us enough room to maneuver close and remove the bombs with the mechanical arms.”
“We're fortunate in that the currents around the wreck are only about 1 to 2 knots, so we'll be able to work unimpeded by the seas. It will still take us a couple of dives, though,” Summer added.
“Ryan can alternate dives with you two,” Morgan said. “Why don't you grab a few hours' rest while we turn the submersible around and prepare for some cutting?”
“You don't have to ask me twice,” Summer yawned in reply. Her sleep was short-lived, however, when Dirk woke her three hours later and they prepared for another dive. With a fresh set of batteries the Starfish was released again and they made their slow descent to the submarine. The submersible hovered off the side of the hangar facing the blast hole, then slowly moved sideways toward the conning tower. At six-foot intervals, measured by the width between the two semi-extended mechanical arms, Dirk would push the submersible forward and scratch a measuring mark on the encrusted surface with the left claw. At the tenth interval, or sixty feet from the torpedo gash, he scratched a rough A on the side of the hangar.
“This is where we cut,” he said to Summer. “Let's see if we can find the seams.”
Dragging one of the claws along the surface of the hangar, Dirk thrust the submersible sideways, leaving a long scratch along the wall. Moving back and closely examining the scarred section, which bled a dirty rust and gold, they quickly found an exposed vertical crease, representing the seam where two plates of the watertight hangar were welded together. As expected, another vertical seam was found ten feet away. While the Starfish hovered, Summer scraped away at the seams, using the claw like a knife, exposing the weld lines. When she was finished, a square outline in the shape of a garage door had been etched on the hangar.