“I don’t give a damn about our current mission!”
exclaimed a very determined Philip Exeter.
“This time the Razorback is going to give those Soviets a run for their money. Our first task has to be to dump the Marlin.”
A tense silence possessed the control room, until the XO’s voice broke from the circle of officers gathered around the navigation table.
“That should be easy enough. Captain. We’re only a few miles from our pre-planned drop-off point anyway. I’ll ring the Marlin on the underwater telephone and tell them to prepare to deploy.”
Accepting the Captain’s nod of approval, Patrick Benton proceeded over to the communications station.
Meanwhile, Exeter turned to address the sub’s current OOD.
“Lieutenant Willingham, bring us down to one hundred and fifty feet and issue an all-stop. As soon as the Marlin is safely clear, we’ll be diverting to a new course of two-two-zero. Ring engineering and let Lieutenant Smith know that we’re going to need flank speed. Battle stations are to be sounded, and then we’d better get to work on determining a decent attack angle.”
Spurred into action by these directives, Scott Willingham barked out the orders that soon had the control room buzzing with activity. While the Diving Officer carefully readjusted their trim, and the planes men began the task of guiding the sub to its new depth, the young Weapons Officer picked up the comm line and calmly called engineering.
With his eyes still glued to the bathymetric chart of the waters off Point Arguello, Exeter’s hushed voice was directed solely toward his Navigator.
“I’d say those Soviets have been prowling around our territorial waters long enough, Lieutenant. Let’s see what we can do about making their stay here a bit less hospitable. Since we can’t outrun them, what’s the best course to intercept?”
While the Razorback’s command team prepared their pursuit, three fellow Naval officers found themselves anxiously perched on the sub’s stern, in a fifty foot-long cylinder of high-tensile steel. From the Marlin’s pilot chair. Commander Will Pierce efficiently activated the various switches that were bringing the DSRV’s power plant back to life. Beside him, Lieutenant Lance Blackmore remained glued to the underwater telephone, in the process of receiving a message from the Razorback’s XO. Watching them from the shelter of the vessel’s central pressure capsule was Ensign Louis Marvin.
No sooner did Blackmore disconnect the phone than he turned to address the grayhaired officer seated on his left.
“That was the Razorback’s XO, sir. We’ve been ordered to immediately disengage.”
Having suspected as much. Pierce called out to the Marlin’s sphere operator.
“Release those capture bolts. Ensign! Prepare the boat for separation.”
While Marvin pivoted to hit the trigger switch that would free the DSRV, Pierce doublechecked their hydraulics system. Satisfied that all looked good, he activated the aft thrusters just as the security bolts disengaged with a loud, metallic click. The main propulsion unit was set into gear, and the Marlin was now on its own.
It wasn’t until the vessel had completed a ninety degree turn at full throttle that Pierce again spoke.
“Contact the Razorback and let them know that we’re all clear, Lieutenant Blackmore.”
Without hesitation, the junior officer activated the radio telephone unit and hit the transmit switch. Only seconds after he conveyed Pierce’s directive, each of the three members of the Marlin’s crew could hear the distinctive whirl of the Razorback’s single screw.
Steadily increasing in intensity, this roaring sound was accompanied by a pronounced shudder as the sub’s gathering wake deflected off the hull of the Marlin. The disturbance quickly passed, and soon even the sound of the sub’s engines faded in the distance.
“What in the world was that all about?” queried Marvin.
“I thought we still had a couple of miles to go until we reached our pre-planned drop-off point.”
“It appears that the Razorback had a little uninvited company to check out,” offered Blackmore.
“They seem to suspect that there could be a Soviet Victor-class attack sub cruising in the waters south of here. Do you think that we should scrub today’s mission. Commander?”
In the process of checking out a bathymetric chart that he had unfolded on his lap. Pierce shook his head.
“I don’t see any reason to go to that extreme, Lieutenant. The Soviets are always poking their noses where they don’t belong, and I can’t see how their presence here could effect us. Even it we were in a state of war and they meant us harm, the Razorback is quite capable of keeping them off our backs. So for the time being, it’s business as usual.”
With his glance still locked on the chart. Pierce continued, “Though we’re a bit east of our ordered position, this looks like a good spot to take the Marlin down. We’ve got a good sixteen hundred feet of water to play with here. We’ll continue heading westward until we reach the eastern tip of Arguello Canyon.
The ocean depth increases rapidly there, and we should only be able to explore the first couple of miles of the canyon’s bottom before reaching our depth threshold.
“If our sonar has no luck, this could signal the western extreme of the Titan’s debris field. If that’s the case, we’ll turn eastward here, and retrace the preliminary scan completed by the Razorback. If this plan is all right with you, gentlemen, I think it’s time to earn our day’s keep. Ensign Marvin, prepare the Marlin for a deep dive. Lieutenant Blackmore, activate the bathymeter and begin an active sonar search.
I want to know every bit of manmade debris that lies beneath us, no matter how small it may be.”
While his junior officer turned to do his bidding, Pierce grasped the DSRV’s control stick and angled their tilting propeller shroud upwards. Next, he flooded the ballast tanks. The additional weight of tons of sea water soon had the Marlin plunging downward. Minutes later, their depth gauge passed 850 feet, the point where most submarines would be forced to level out. Oblivious to the clearly audible moaning strain of the hull around them, Pierce continued their dive.
Also watching the depth gauge increase was Blackmore.
As they passed 900 feet, he realized that this was the deepest that he had ever been. Though his feet and limbs were already icy cold, a narrow band of sweat formed on his forehead. Far from the panic that gripped him off of Kauai, he experienced a mild feeling of tense apprehension that he supposed was only normal.
At least he hadn’t screwed up this time, when they were in the midst of those vital communications with the Razorback. Now, if only he could keep from freezing up in an emergency. This remained his greatest fear.
He would never forget those nightmarish moments when the Marlin had been swept out of control by the Kauai Channel’s underwater currents. When their interior lights had failed, Blackmore had found himself so scared that, for a few seconds, he had been unable to hit the emergency breaker switch that he was responsible for. With his heart beating wildly, and his arms heavy as lead, he had been totally useless. Yet somehow he had managed to snap back and, with the lights’ reactivation, had gradually regained his cool.
For the rest of that mission, any sense of panic had been totally absent. He guessed that he had been so busy with the five round trips it took to remove the Providence’s crew that he had had no time for fear.
After the rescue had been completed, he remembered being possessed by a feeling of complete exhaustion, unlike any he had ever felt before. Fortunately, the flight on the C-5A had allowed him six hours of uninterrupted sleep. He had awakened to find himself at Vandenberg. While being briefed on their new mission. Lance had been again surprised when the commander had again chosen him to be the Marlin’s copilot. He was certain that Pierce had seen him freeze up before, yet the senior officer hadn’t said anything about it. And here he was, hardly twenty four hours later, once again putting his life in Lance’s inexperienced hands.