“No room for errors,” said Briscoe.
“Gotta be perfect,” confirmed Cross.
Briscoe ended the interchange with a hand in the air, requesting a high-five. Cross slapped it down and said, “I’m pumped up now. It’s gonna happen. I can feel it.”
“Well, we have to do something to pass the time, make it go faster. I’m going down to Mess and watch TV. Get my mind off the wait.”
“I’m with you. Watching this test is like watching grass grow. Television has to be better. Let’s go.”
From below they felt and heard the crane winch up the suit. They knew it would soon be time for the test review and suit’s release. It was eleven-thirty, their dive should commence in an hour.
“Okay, let’s go wait on deck. I can pre-check the Glider. Can’t be too careful,” said Cross.
“Damn, this a long day. I feel like I could take a nap. Only problem is I’d never wake up.”
Below, in the Captain’s office, the intercom buzzed. “ComSec on line one. You have a shore call waiting.”
“Broward.”
“Hello Captain. Lieutenant Poole again.”
“Yes, Lieutenant, I hope this isn’t another discovery call.”
“No, it’s not. Our office is getting a little nervous. We’re all biting our nails, watching the clock tick away the hours. No explosions, no news, nothing. Can you please tell us what’s happening out there?”
“Sure, Lieutenant, you’re not alone. We’re awaiting Cross’s dive to retrieve Eve and ship her out to sea. That should happen any time now. Nothing else we can do.”
“Well Jesus Christ, Captain, you’re really cutting it close. Gonna give us all heart attacks. Can you do anything to speed it up?”
“Already have. It’s moving like clockwork out here. Cross and Briscoe are chomping at the bit, ready to dive. Harper, our Osprey pilot, is already warming his engines. Everything is on track. They should dive within the next hour.”
“Speaking of the Osprey, I talked with Gruber about Eve’s relocation. He said to warn you about dropping her too close to Adam. That could reinforce his destructive power; double his impact. Twenty miles away from him would be a safer distance. Their effects should cancel each other between them, like explosive armor.”
“Good point, Lieutenant. I’ll get that to Harper so he can chart a new course: twenty miles north. Sounds reasonable to me, but we’re forging a new frontier here. Who knows what will really happen. We plan to document it from shipboard for future research. Unfortunately, Fogner ignored the nuclear test ban treaty; we might as well get some data from it.”
“Captain, I’ve got another call coming in. Have to go. May God be with you and your crew. Goodbye.”
Disconnecting, he raced topside to find Harper and redirect the drop.
Eleven-forty-five came, the techs were just opening the Exosuit looking for leaks, rotating the repaired foot joint. The Glider was in final preparations for the dive. After confirming the warhead harness had been properly placed, locked in the cable reel near the floods, Briscoe inspected the Glider’s hull, feeling the surface for nicks and gouges that could impede its motion. Finding none, he moved to the viewport looking for cracks and gasket wear, then grasped the hull’s Exosuit rack, pulled and tugged, testing its strength. Unseen by him, one of the bolts, holding it, jiggled free and dropped to the deck, rolling under the bow. The other bolts were loose as well, but he didn’t notice; it tested tight. Meanwhile Cross tested the controls from the cockpit.
From across the deck, a suit tech walked toward them.
Ding-ding, ding-ding, ding-ding, ding-ding. The OOD struck eight bells. Briscoe looked up at the tech. “Need me?”
“Yes sir, suit’s ready. Passed all checks. Good as new, maybe better. Follow me.”
He motioned Cross. “Hey, Marker. I’m suiting up. Be back in a few, ready to dive. Get yourself ready, locked in; our time in the spotlight is here.”
Cross nodded, climbed over the hull, and dropped through the hatch, locking it behind him. Switching on the Glider’s power, Cross scanned the control panel, glowing with indicators, sonar screens; a spot of sunlight beamed down from the viewport.
“How does that feel?” came a question through the Glider’s intercom.
“A little tight.”
He recognized the voice from Briscoe being suited nearby.
“Intercom working,” he mumbled, checking it off his list.
He ran through the remainder of the checklist, ticking each item after confirming its operation. Ten minutes later, he placed the list by his seat and waited.
Hissing from heavy breathing, boots clomping on the deck preceded Briscoe’s appearance out the front viewport. “See me? Hear me, Marker?” He poked his helmeted head up to the port, scaring Cross with its suddenness.
“Yes, Chief, loud and clear. Go for dive?”
Briscoe stepped onto the suit’s special platform, backed into the rack, locked himself into place, then replied, “10-4, Marker. Hit the lights and siren. Let’s go.”
Cross smiled and keyed the radio, “Trident bridge, Glider ready for winching.” His watch reading twelve-thirty-two, told him he was right on schedule.
Umbilical pulled, winching hooks locked onto the rails, they lifted from the deck headed into the most important dive of their lives.
1MC: “There are divers over the side, do not rotate screws, cycle rudders, operate sonar, take suction from or discharge to the sea, blow, flood or vent any tanks, or operate any underwater equipment without first contacting the Chief Engineer and the diving supervisor.”
Floating from the rail dock, bobbing in short rolling waves, Briscoe’s amplified voice urged, “Dive, Marker, before I get sick.” His voice carried up to the deck, causing a round of laughter; they cheered him on.
“Diving now, Chief, hold on.” He recalled Eve’s coordinates into the GINS system, locked the maximum speed at one knot, and activated Auto. Ballasts filled, the mercury tanks rebalanced, the propulsion motors hummed, and they headed slowly downward.
“Not too fast. Don’t want to be blown off this rack.”
“Slow and steady, as they say, does it. Let me know when you see the pi-ball beacon flashing.”
“I’m watching, but let me know when our coordinates are close. I’ll watch harder.”
The Glider submerged at a rack-safe rate, placing them just above the floor, thirty minutes later.
“I’ve got the pi-ball in my sights!” yelled Briscoe.
“Where? Which way?” asked Cross, straining to see out the viewport. He felt his heart was about to pound out of his chest.
“Eleven o’clock, toward port, maybe twenty meters out. A dull flashing in the silt.”
He saw his suited arm, blocking the viewport, pointing off toward the left.
“Got it, Chief. Maneuvering over Eve. Hang on.”
Circling slowly onto the target, he adjusted the ballasts and motors to stop, level, five meters away, the Glider’s floods illuminating the scene. He tapped the side thrusters, centering Eve in the lights. A few meters off, the beacon blinked, confirming their location.
“There she is, Chief. Go get her. Same protocol as last time. Guide me in after you get her harnessed.”
Briscoe unlocked the warhead harness and started toward the warhead. His slow-motion bounding out toward Eve, kicking up silt, reminded Cross of vintage videos from moon landings, astronauts romping over its surface demonstrating the lessened gravity. For a moment, he was a child again, mesmerized by a vision of the first lunar landing.