"Roger." Bill reached for a ball-valve handle near the top of the lock, and turned it slightly.
Buck was monitoring our conversation, and lifted the Basketball to get a view of the top of the Can. A steady stream of bubbles began to rise from the outside of the Can where the outside bleed valve was located. I glanced over at the BCP and the depth gauge. We were at 195 feet. I caught the XO's attention and glanced at the depth gauge.
"Mind your depth, Diving Officer," the XO ordered.
"Aye, Sir." Chris was mildly embarrassed, but it is not easy maintaining an exact depth in the open ocean, especially when you have zero forward speed. Chris was doing okay.
A boomer has automatic hover equipment that sucks water in and out of a specially designed hover tank so efficiently that the boat can remain within about six inches of desired depth. But we were in an aging nuke that never was designed to do any of the things we were demanding of her. On balance, she was holding up pretty well. The hover kept Gunty busy as hell. I saw what he had done. He was running water into one tank and out of another simultaneously, while partially opening and shutting the flow control valves to give him the required momentum. Just before we hit 195 feet, one of his tanks had reached capacity while he was still emptying the other — so we got a bit light. By the time Chris received his admonition, Gunty had it back under control. What they were doing was actually pretty slick — especially since none of us had ever done it before.
As we settled back down, the lower hatch in the outer lock suddenly popped up a couple of inches, and Bill closed the external bleed valve before the lock could flood. Jimmy lifted the hatch back on its springs. The hatch was cocked halfway back, and would remain open.
"Securing the hatch," Jimmy announced as he fastened the hook that prevented the hatch from swinging shut accidentally during an unexpected ship's movement.
"Roger that. Suit up," Ham ordered.
Each diver donned his bright yellow Mark 11 backpack with its bulky canister, bottles, gauges, and connectors, attached the hot water hose to the suit connector; and then each slipped the Kirby-Morgan helmets over their heads, and hooked them up to the gas hoses from the backpack and umbilical.
"Outer Lock and Dive Control, Red Diver. Comm check."
"Dive Control, Aye."
"Outer Lock, Aye."
"Outer Lock and Dive Control, Green Diver. Comm check."
"Dive Control, Aye."
"Outer Lock, Aye."
It takes a while to tell the story, but it happened quickly. Remember, we were in a hurry.
"Divers go!" Ham ordered.
With Bill feeding umbilical, Jimmy lowered himself through the open hatch, followed immediately by Whitey. Buck brought the Basketball down, so we watched the divers enter the water on the split screen.
"Red and Green Diver, Comm check." Ham was just making sure, and I understood. We were hovering at 200 feet with divers tethered to our ass. It was dicey, to say the least.
"Red Diver, Aye." Jimmy's voice sounded squeaky and muffled, and his breathing noise made it even more difficult to understand him.
"Green Diver, Aye." Same for Whitey.
"Dive Control, Red Diver, we confirm the problem. The Can's completely covered with a trawl net, and it's draped completely around, and then back across the rudder." He paused. "Whitey — your light…"
On the split screen I could see the beam of brightness barely visible in the darkened water column as Buck focused in on Whitey.
"Look, Whitey… see!" We could sense his excitement, even through the distorted helium speech. "Dive Control, Red Diver, there's one tow cable wrapped in the port screw. It extends right from the net caught around the Can. It passes under the stern and is wrapped around the starboard shaft." And then, "Let's go, Whitey. We can cut this sucker loose."
For the next ten minutes all we heard was heavy breathing mixed in with gas bubbling sounds as we watched the divers struggle with their knives and the tough fiber of the trawl net. Then, suddenly, the net slid out of the view of the Basketball.
"That does it, Dive Control." It wasn't exactly according to the book, but Jimmy had earned the right. "The net's on its way to the bottom, Dive Control."
"Sheeeit!" Whitey suddenly squeaked, sounding like nothing so much as one of the Christmas chipmunks. "Down, Jimmy!" There was no mistaking his intent. "Right now!"
Buck rotated the Basketball upward toward Whitey just in time to see a dark shadow sweep past the divers.
"Dive Control, Green Diver. Can you take us down about another fifty feet or so? We nearly got snagged by another trawl net."
The XO looked to me, and I nodded emphatically. "Make your depth two-hundred fifty feet — take her down slow and easy," he ordered.
"Two-hundred fifty feet slow and easy, Aye," Chris said, as Gunty adjusted his flow valves.
"We're going to two-fifty, Ham. Track her down," I ordered through my boom mike.
"Dive Control, Aye."
The sub began a slow, level descent. I kept an eye on the Can depth gauge visible on the monitor, while I watched the effect on the split screen as Buck kept pace with his Basketball. That guy was really good. While we were descending, he went back to the screws for a closer look.
"That was close, Dive Control," Whitey said. "The net actually slid across the sub's sail."
"Dive Control, Red Diver. Can you have Engineering jack the starboard shaft a bit in reverse to loosen up the cable?"
"Hold on that, Red Diver." Then Ham made a formal request. "Conn, Dive Control. Can you jack the starboard shaft back a couple of turns?"
The Skipper nodded and picked up his handset.
"Roger that, Dive Control. Stand by."
The Skipper explained to Dirk what he needed. Dirk had already anticipated the need to do this, and was ready on both shafts. Buck moved in for a closer look, and we could see the shaft rotate to the left in short jerks. Within two minutes we heard a squeaky whoop.
"Hold the starboard shaft… that's great!" Jimmy said. Buck pulled back to give them room, and we watched them struggling with the cable, working the bitter end up and over the shaft once, and then again. We heard a lot of squeaky huffing and puffing. And then the cable disappeared from view. "OK — that did it. The starboard shaft's free. The cable is hanging from the port screw, but it's way too heavy for us to get it off."
Buck moved farther away to get a larger view, but it was dark and difficult to make out.
"Roger, Red Diver." I was sure Ham really wanted a good view of what was happening out there.
"OK, Dive Control." Jimmy sounded a bit winded. "Now we need you to jack the port shaft in reverse — slowly. With a bit of luck, the cable will pull free and snake to the bottom."
Once again, Buck moved in from the stern, behind the screw, which gave us a great view of the action.
"Roger that, Red Diver."
The Skipper started talking on his handset again. He kept it to his ear. The screw started turning very slowly.
"That's it!" squeaked Jimmy. "Slowly… slowly…" And then, "Stop! Stop!"
Even on the monitor we could see that the cable had crossed itself.
The Skipper said something to the handset.
"The cable crossed," Jimmy told us. "Jack forward about a quarter turn."
The Skipper passed it on.
"OK — Stop!" Heavy breathing. On the monitor the cable snapped free from its constraining hold on the other wrap. "Now back slowly…" More heavy breathing, from both divers. "Slow… slow… SLOWER!"