All other systems continue to be right on.”
“Good show, Ensign,” replied Pierce matter-of factly
“Are we all set for guests back there?”
“That we are. Skipper,” returned Marvin with a thumbs-up sign.
“Then let’s see about telephoning our guests to see if they can make the party,” continued Pierce, whose hands were gripped tightly around the steering column.
“Lieutenant Blackmore, you may do the honors.”
Spurred by this request, the lieutenant nervously picked up the underwater telephone unit. After turning up the volume gain, he spoke into the transmitter of what appeared to be a normal, everyday telephone handset.
“U.S.S. Providence, this is the Marlin. Do you copy us, over?”
Blackmore repeated this message before flipping the receiver switch. When a response failed to materialize, he again repeated the message. This time, the quick hand of Ensign Marvin reached in beside him and triggered the transmit button. Because Blackmore had failed to depress this switch, his initial message had gone no further than the command module. This time, with his coworker’s help, a garbled response soon flowed through the telephone’s speaker.
“DSRV Marlin, this is the Providence. We read you loud and clear. What took you so long?”
Grinning at this response, Pierce took the transmitter and answered, “Better late than never, Providence.
Are you guys ready to get the party started?”
This time the signal from the disabled sub was substantially clearer.
“That’s affirmative, Marlin.
The line is already forming at the stern escape hatch, and we’re ready to start the dance whenever you are.”
“Well, hang in there just a little bit longer. Providence.
The band is coming on down.”
With this. Pierce handed the receiver back to the lieutenant, who secured it in its cradle. A check of the depth counter found them already passing the 100foot level. As the gauge continued spinning, Blackmore looked out of the column-mounted viewing port and took in a black wall of sea water, barely penetrated by their hull-mounted spotlights. How they ever hoped to spot another vessel in this muck was beyond his wildest imagination.
As if again reading his mind, Ensign Marvin offered his own observation.
“I sure hope Barking Sands gave us an accurate set of coordinates. Otherwise, this could be like finding the proverbial needle in a haystack.”
Before this comment could be returned, the Marlin was suddenly tossed on its side by a powerful current of water. Thrown backward by this concussion, Marvin tumbled from his precarious perch into the rear pressure capsule. Fortunately, both Pierce and Blackmore were held fast to their command chairs by their safety harnesses. A sickening heaviness formed in the lieutenant’s gut upon realizing that their angle of descent had drastically increased. His heartbeat quickened, the sweat rolling off his forehead, as he watched the commander struggle to regain control of the Marlin. All of this took on an entirely different perspective when the lights unexpectedly flickered and then failed altogether.
“Lieutenant, hit that circuit breaker!” ordered the stern voice of Pierce.
Struggling to control his panic, Blackmore knew this directive was aimed at him, yet his ponderously heavy right hand failed to move. He knew right where the breaker was located. Why couldn’t he trigger it?
The Marlin rolled hard to the right and their diving angle became even steeper. The pitch blackness that prevailed gave Lance the distinct impression that he was in a nightmare. His heart was practically pounding out of his chest when Pierce’s voice again sounded.
“For God’s sake, Lieutenant, hit that breaker!”
Summoning his every last ounce of self-control, Blackmore managed to release the iron-like grip his right hand had on his thigh. Trembling and icy cold, he fought to raise it overhead and reverse the overloaded circuit. An eternity seemed to pass, until his index finger finally found the breaker and pushed it forward. Instantaneously, the lights flickered on in response.
It took several seconds for Blackmore’s eyes to adjust to the alien brightness. When they did focus, he caught sight of Pierce, coolly sitting at the pilot’s station in complete control. Even without the benefit of light, the commander had managed to safely guide the Marlin out of the swift current. He had even been able to regain control of their angle of descent. Blackmore had just noticed that they were 500 feet below the water’s surface now when Pierce spoke again.
“Ensign Marvin, are you still with us?”
Several anxious seconds passed before a shaken voice sounded out from behind them.
“You didn’t lose me that easily, Skipper. What in the hell hit us?”
“Just a little underwater current,” returned Pierce.
“They can run something fierce in these channels.
Let’s just hope that’s the last we’ve seen of it. Shall we get on with active and see what we’ve got down there? Lieutenant Blackmore, begin that sonar search.”
Though his hand still trembled, Blackmore managed to get it to do the commander’s bidding. The sonar was activated and, as a result, a wavering pulse of intense sound energy surged from their bow. With hated breath, he awaited the characteristic metallic ping of a return that would indicate another solid object was close by.
By this time, the lieutenant’s heartbeat had calmed itself considerably. No longer did sweat pour from his forehead. Certain that Pierce had seen his panic, Blackmore wondered if this dive would be his last.
Even with this somber thought in mind, a greater priority took center stage. Somewhere down below them in the icy blackness over 100 of his fellow seamen depended upon him to save their lives. No matter what it took, he would not let them down.
And from the seat to Lieutenant Blackmore’s immediate left, the Marlin’s pilot deftly operated the DSRV’s controls. Still shaken by the sudden underwater current that had almost taken them to their graves, he too contemplated the goal that was guiding them downward. A quick glance to his right showed that the young lieutenant seemed in much better emotional control. Just before the lights had failed, he could have sworn that Blackmore was close to a full-fledged panic attack. Though to lose control in such a situation could have disastrous implications for all of them. Pierce had to give the kid another chance. He would never forget his first dive in a DSRV, when the vessel had inexplicably lost total hydraulic pressure. Spiraling into the ocean’s depths, Pierce had not only frozen up in fear, he had wet his pants as well. Saved by the masterly expertise of the pilot, who had passed to him his present command, Will had lived to dive once again. Of course, he had sworn to himself that he never would panic again.
This had been a promise that he had somehow managed to keep through the years.
As to the emotional strength of the young officer who sat beside him, only time would tell. The lad certainly seemed bright enough. His grades in school were excellent, yet he was a bit too overly sensitive.
Perhaps if he’d learn to relax more and have a good time, this sensitivity would dissipate. Only then could he develop the right attitude for command.
Pierce ‘a ponderings were broken by the metallic ping of a solid sonar return. It was soon evident that this return belonged to none other than the U.S.S.
Providence. As the Marlin passed a depth of 820 feet, the position of the 688’s stern was determined. With the delicacy of a surgeon, Will Pierce then began the delicate task of linking the DSRV’s transfer skirt with the downed sub’s rescue hatch.
It was the sensitive transducer of a hydrophone that first relayed to the technicians at Barking Sands proof that the DSRV had mated with the Providence. A scratchy, scraping noise emanated from the deep as the Marlin’s transfer skirt attached itself onto the sub’s emergency trunk. Seconds later, the characteristic sucking whoosh of equalizing pressure was followed by the distant sounds of the submariners themselves as they began their short climb to safety.