“Hold on a second,” Grimm said. “We should be hovering shortly.”
Indeed, the floor returned to its normal angle a few seconds later, and the engine noise swelled. Then the red dystopia of the helicopter’s interior was swept away in a rush of wind and sound as a crewmember pulled himself into the cabin and yanked the door open.
“We’re coming down on the stern!” the crewman shouted after plugging his helmet into the wall. “I’ll signal when it’s safe to egress!”
I felt a new vibration crawl up my legs from the floor. It ended with a thump a few seconds later, and I realized the landing gear had been lowered.
I reached for my harness again, but Grimm intercepted my hand and shook his head.
“No! Wait until we’ve stabilized! If the helo has to bounce back up, you need to be strapped in!”
“OK!”
He glanced toward the doorway, then back to me.
“I’ll go first!” he said. “If you think you’re going to fall or don’t think you can make the jump, tell me now!”
“I’ll be fine!”
Through the door I could see the top of the submarine’s periscope masts. As we drifted downward, more of the boat was revealed, its hull a dull, gray interruption of the sparkling waves.
Then the helicopter crewman turned and pointed at the first SEAL by the door.
“OK, go, go!”
That soldier and the man sitting next to him stood and stepped into the night. For a moment, they disappeared. Then their heads poked up at door level, and they jogged toward the conning tower. Their motions were effortless and animal-like, a ballet of footsteps, swiveling heads and weaponry.
Both moved to the far side of the conning tower. I lost sight of them in the darkness. As I watched, however, an indistinct mass seemed to slide up the tower’s ladder, then unfold itself into the silhouette of a man.
It was obscured for a moment by a structure jutting from the top of the sail but re-emerged and made three sharp gestures toward the helicopter. I couldn’t make them out, but they were clear to Larsen.
“Move!” he shouted.
Grimm leaned over and whacked the release latch on my harness, then hooked a hand in my armpit and hoisted me to my feet as I tried to recover from the blow. I shuffled forward next to him, watching the SEALs in front of us slip out the door in parallel lines.
And then we were at the edge.
In my peripheral vision, I saw Grimm step out of the helicopter and without thinking, I did the same. My sneakers hit the deck before I expected them to, and I fell into a crouch, letting my knees absorb the impact. The helicopter was about four feet off the deck, I guess, but it was tough to gauge the distance in the dark.
I was at the end of a two-abreast column of crouching soldiers. Grimm pulled me toward them by my elbow. He spun to face me.
“I told you to wait for me! Pay attention!”
His teeth gleamed as he yelled, providing the only focal point amid the vague gray and black contours of his face.
“Sorry!” I said. “It wasn’t far! I’m fine; I’m not hurt!”
“That’s not the point! When you get instructions on this ship, you need to follow them!”
He pulled my bag off his shoulders, tossed it in front of me, then turned to watch Larsen. The SEAL leader was taking a head count. When he finished, he flashed a thumbs-up to the man in the helicopter’s doorway.
The crewman returned the gesture as he began pulling the door shut. The helicopter slid sideways, then climbed and began to accelerate away from us, its dark flanks already beginning to blend in with the night sky.
The whine and chatter of its engines diminished into an irregular thumping echoing across the ocean. Soon that, too, was swallowed up by the darkness.
The SEALs had begun moving across the deck toward the conning tower, the sound of their footsteps harsh and intrusive in the sudden silence. Grimm walked after them without saying anything to me.
I stood and watched them for a moment. The sea’s gentle motion tugged at the ship, making its skin seem alive, flexing with unseen muscle.
I took a deep breath, inhaling salty air tinged with diesel and oil.
And then I picked up my bag and followed the soldiers across the Dragon's back.
II
Grimm had talked to Larsen.
“I specifically told you what was going to happen and Warrant Officer Grimm told you how it was going to happen,” Larsen said. “I guess you didn’t listen to either of us.”
He was only a few inches taller than I, but he was leaning forward, trying to throw his physical presence into each word.
“I’m sorry I jumped before Grimm told me to. It’s not like there was much danger in a four-foot drop.”
“We’ll decide what’s dangerous here, Doctor.”
It wasn’t a question, but he stared at me like he wanted an answer. I raised my eyebrows and stared back, listening to the slap of wavelets against the sides of the submarine. It was impossible to tell whether the SEALs huddled around us at the base of the conning tower were ignoring us or just wearing the same stoic costumes they had throughout most of the helicopter ride.
Larsen stepped back and inhaled. When he spoke again, his tone was slow and measured, as if he were addressing a child.
“OK. Now, we only have an hour or so until it starts to get light. So we need to get submerged. But the doctor needs to examine the control room before we get in there and muck it up. Isn’t that right?”
I shrugged, but he wasn’t paying attention.
“So what’s going to happen is this. Grimm will descend the ladder into the control room and, without touching anything, will verify that it is secure. Dr. Myers will then climb down the ladder. From that point, she will have twenty minutes to collect all the observations she needs from the control area.” He pointed at my head. “After twenty minutes, the rest of the platoon will enter the submarine, and we will dive. This is not negotiable. Do you think you can stick with the plan this time?”
I could feel a hard knot of fury gathering deep in my chest. But if he wanted to bully me, he wasn’t going to get the satisfaction of a terse response.
“Sure,” I said and shrugged again.
He wanted to scream at me to call him “sir”; I could see him biting back the words. But instead he turned and barked at Grimm.
“Go! Get in there!”
“Yes, sir,” Grimm said. He braced himself on the doorframe with one hand and pulled his lanky body through the aperture on the side of the submarine’s superstructure. Without waiting for instructions, I followed him in.
Mounted in the deck in front of me was a manhole-sized hatch with a ladder that stretched to the ceiling of the conning tower and down into the guts of the sub.
A few feeble traces of illumination escaped the opening as Grimm lowered himself into it, offering a suggestion of the conning tower’s interior. To the right of the hatch was a waist-high, domed post as thick as a man’s leg. Erupting from its sides were several sets of levers, wheels and gauges.
I glanced down and saw Grimm’s watch cap bobbing down the ladder. The sub’s electrical system must have survived whatever catastrophe befell the crew because he stepped into a pool of dim white light and moved out of my field of view.
Then, a few seconds later: “All clear!”
“Get down there, Myers,” Larsen called from the submarine’s deck.
I slung my bag over my shoulder and lowered myself into the hole until I felt my feet come to rest on the top rung. It soon was evident, however, that the duffel wasn’t going to fit. I had to dangle it from my right hand while using my left on the ladder.
My slow pace drew Grimm over to the base of the ladder. I heard him say “Jesus Christ” under his breath as he looked up at me.