“Trident bridge, Osprey One approaching drop point.” Harper’s voice, vibrating from the rotor’s shaking, roared from the bridge’s radio. Urgency filled his tone.
Broward, edgy, pacing the bridge, jammed the microphone button, “Just lay it down and get the hell out of there, Harper. You have twenty-five minutes before they blow. Your top speed will put you within seventy miles of the ship: a safe distance from them. Now drop her and hightail it, dammit. You don’t have a second to spare.”
“Dropping her now, Captain.” The rotors flared in the microphone’s background, increasing the vibrations.
Seconds passed. Broward waited for feedback. “Trident bridge, Osprey One. Eve deep-sixed, heading back.”
“Thank God,” he said. The officers on the bridge applauded Harper’s message.
Ten minutes later, he switched the microphone to the 1MC input and announced, “Now hear this. Now hear this. All hands report topside. All hands report topside. Bring binoculars with you. No cameras. You’re about to see something no man has seen before; the real reason we’ve been here for the past two weeks. Once topside, file orderly to the portside rail and look west, out at the horizon. Wait there until three fifty-five and remember what you see. A word of warning, though. You all have security clearances: required of you to staff this ship. Consider what you are about to witness at the top level of your clearance. Nothing leaves this ship except memories, locked away on your mind, not to be shared with anyone. Enjoy the display, and thank you for your courageous service. Broward signing off. I’ll be out on deck with you.”
His words captured the crew’s attention. They scattered through the ship, telling crewmen unable to hear the 1MC, grabbing binoculars, and speculating about the Captain’s message. Quietly, orderly. they flowed up from the stairwells toward the port railing. The ship listed slightly to port as they arrived, looking westward, chatting about their recent experiences. No one knew the real truth, except for a few officers Broward had let into his private world.
Less than two minutes before the pi digits lined up, the crew stared westward. The flat horizon remained featureless. Nothing was happening. Then a crewman, looking through high-powered glasses, pointed and shouted out, “I see the Osprey out there. Low over the ocean, heading our way.”
Everyone looked over to see which way he was pointing, then redirecting their gaze. The horizon continued to flat line. The Osprey came into view, just over the water.
Barely perceivable at first, behind the Osprey, the ocean rose silently, gently in two massive mounds of frothing seawater, miles apart, then shuddered, collapsed and reformed into two towering fiery bubbles shooting black clouds laced with swirling fire high into the sky. Twin hellish columns rose from the shimmering bubbles into the tropopause, then mushroomed out into a flat top, connected through fiery clouds, forming an anachronistic pi symbol in the distant sky.
The crew stood speechless, hypnotized by the spectacle. A few turned away, others zoomed their binoculars to get better views. Aside from the crowd, Broward stood watching. talking with Cross.
“You did it, son. With Briscoe’s help, God rest his soul. Saved us, and most of California. Unfortunately, they will never know what really happened. Higher-ups have directed that we cover up the story with disinformation. I’m reluctant to do that, but they fear copycats. Funny how Washington wasn’t interested until we started moving warheads around. Then their ears perked up and they took over. You’ll read about it in the paper, tomorrow.”
Cross’s eyes darkened, reminded of the Chief and all they had been through. He had lost a father when the rack broke loose. He was trying to be brave but his heart was broken. He smiled, “I was planning to return and search for the Chief. Think that’s a good idea?”
“No. The shock waves from those explosions could arrive at any time. Don’t want to get caught in them. We’ll send out some UAVs, Bluefins, tomorrow to search for him. They’ll find him one way or another.”
Cross dropped his head. He was hurting inside. Wanting to share this moment with his old buddy; he never expected this to happen.
Broward looked out at the Osprey approaching, not far away, and nodded to it. “I’m sending you home on the Osprey tonight to be with your family. Your work here is done. Mighty fine job, I might add. Pack your bag you’ll be leaving within the hour.”
“Wh… what about the Glider? How is it going back?”
“We’re heading to San Diego tomorrow for a few days in dry dock, then heading north, up the coast to Alaska. We’ll be passing right by Monterey. We’ll anchor at sea for a day, bring you in on the Osprey and you can take the Glider back home. Simple. You need a week off anyway, after what you just did. Take a break from diving.”
“Well thank you, Captain. I’d love to get home. The faster, the better, now. I’ve got a vacation picked out in Big Bear, as far from the ocean as I can get. Perfect time for it.”
They paused as the Osprey landed, blocking their conversation. Harper waved through the window, then smiled with a thumb’s up. As the rotors slowed, then stopped, he quick-stepped down the stairs, dropped to his knees and kissed the landing pad.
Laughing they continued their conversation. “Well, I want to thank you for your exemplary work on our ship. Oh, that all our sailors were like you. Sure you don’t want to re-up? I can find you a place on a sub, much larger than the Glider. I can get you a captain’s rank, too. Commanding it would be a snap for you.”
“Captain, thanks for the offer, but I don’t want a ship larger than the Glider. It’s like an old pair of shoes to me. I enjoy the solitude when I dive. I could never get that on a big ship. This mission has proven that to me. I’m where I belong in the Glider. Not everyone can pilot a DSV, you know.”
As they continued, a tinny thin voice came over the port side, “Hey! Can anyone up there hear me? Look down here. I need a dock.”
The few crewmen remaining at the rail, watching the mushrooms dissipate, looked down at the voice. Below them, a white Exosuit, floating in the waves, making snow angels in the water, flailed wildly trying to get anyone’s attention. One waved back and screamed, “Man overboard! It’s Briscoe!”
The suit’s intercom answered, “Yes, that’s me. Drop the damn rail dock for me. I’m worn out from swimming. I need some coffee before I freeze to death.” They could hear his teeth chattering as he spoke.
Cross, hearing the commotion brightened, laughing, he ran to the rail and stared down. “My God, it is Briscoe! You’re alive!”
“Hell yes, it’s me. Can’t lose me that easily. Now send the dock down and get me.”
Cross bounded over the deck to the rail dock, screaming. “Man the crane. Drop me down. Somebody help.”
Above, a crane operator scurried up a ladder and into the crane’s control room. Seconds later, the dock lifted, carrying the Glider, Cross standing beside it, down to the water.
Crewmen still watching over the side, saw Cross, fighting the waves, standing on the dock, floating inches down in the water, pull Briscoe onto it. Then he signaled to raise the dock. “Thank you, Marker. You did good.” Briscoe said, breathing heavily through the speaker.
Solid ground had never felt so good to him. He pulled himself up from the dock, stood looking around to get his bearings, and plodded toward the Exosuit rack. Cross followed alongside, assisting his balance in his weakened state.
A voice from the 1MC echoed, “Exosuit suit techs report topside. Exosuit suit techs report topside. Your suit is back. Report immediately.”
Four seamen shot from the stairs to the suit rack, grabbed Briscoe and helped him shed the suit. Another carried a blanket and wrapped it around him, bringing him warmth. Still shivering he said, “That’s damn cold water out there. Thought I wasn’t going to make it, until I saw the Osprey fly over. That renewed my energy, brought me home.”