“Hello, gentlemen. You’re presently breaking the fifty meter threshold. How do you read me?”
“Loud and clear, Chief,” answered Jon.
“And how are you doing, David?” added the voice of Magne.
“It’s a walk in the park,” replied Lawton.
“You know, I forgot to ask you, Magne, but what do you have planned to keep me occupied during decompression?”
The supervisor of Noroil’s diving operations hesitated a moment before responding.
“You’ll have to give me some time to work on that, David. I’ll spread the word and see what the crew is holding in the way of English books and magazines.”
“I appreciate that, partner. And if any of the crew has any jazz tapes, send them along, too. It’s time my fellow divers down here got a dose of some real music.”
“I copy that, David. I’ll do my best. You’re presently breaking one hundred meters.”
Lawton yawned wide to clear his blocked eardrums.
Other than the alien pressure in his ears, there were no other physical symptoms of the great depth that they had already attained.
“What kind of depths were you working with during the job that you left for this one?” asked Lawton in an attempt to break the ice.
“Our initial sonar contact with the sunken ferry was at 415 meters,” answered Jon.
“So needless to say, we were able to keep our feet dry for most of the project, and let our ROV do all the work for us.
“How did we ever do it without those ever-loving ROV’s?” reflected the Texan.
“Our teammate, Knut, who’s the technical genius of NUEX, says that in a few years, with all the electronic advances in robotics we’re seeing, that human divers won’t even be needed anymore” offered Arne.
“I seriously doubt that,” said Lawton.
“But I must admit that we’ve got ROV’s doing things that we never dreamed possible just a couple of years ago.”
“You’re breaking 150 meters,” observed the calm voice of Magne from above.
“Continuing pressurization.”
After clamping shut his nostrils and blowing out hard to clear his ears, Lawton added, “Of course, when I started in this business, just a dive to our current depth would have been unthinkable. So who knows, maybe ROV’s will progress to such a stage that the really deep, dangerous work can be handled solely by the machines. Though as far as I’m concerned, nothing will ever beat having a real live diver on the job.”
“I’m with you, David,” broke the voice of Magne.
“You’re all starting to sound like a bunch of ducks.
Approaching two hundred meters.”
Magne was referring to one of the aftereffects of breathing almost pure helium, the phenomenon known in the diving industry as “Donald Duck” voice. Inside the bell, the four divers weren’t aware that they sounded any different than normal, and instead found their main concern being to keep the pressure on their eardrums equalized.
At 250 meters, Lawton found it a bit more difficult to catch his breath. But like someone who lives in a mountainous region, his lungs soon became adjusted to the new gas mixture, one quite different than that found at sea level.
“You’re at target depth,” said Magne as the bell gently jerked to a halt.
“Initiating final pressurization”
For one last time the divers were forced to equalize the pressure on their eardrums. By the time this task was completed, the bottom hatch popped open, signalling that the pressure inside the bell was the same as that outside.
At this point, Jakob neatly stashed away his Walkman and began gathering his diving equipment.
Both David Lawton and Jon Huslid also reached for the tools of their dangerous trade. Their bell man helped each one make the final adjustments to their masks, which entirely covered their faces. Arne would remain inside, with his own gear close by ready to leave the bell should one of the others need his assistance.
“Getting ready to leave the bell,” said Jon, his mouth now covered by his mask.
Magne’s tinny voice broke from the mask’s small recessed speakers.
“I read you. You now have sixty minutes and counting to complete your work and get back to the bell.”
With his umbilical held carefully in his right hand, Jon climbed down through the hatchway. Before leaving the bell altogether, he put on his fins, switched on his mercury-vapor torch, and grabbed the canvas sack full of tools that Arne handed him.
As Jon swam free, Jakob followed, with David Lawton once again bringing up the rear.
The Texan was genuinely excited to be back at work again. The hot water that circulated throughout his suit effectively countered the frigid cold of this depth, and since hypothermia could kill a man just as quickly as a poor breathing mixture could, he was especially careful with his umbilical. Only when he was absolutely certain that it was playing out smoothly did he begin swimming away from the bell with speed.
As it turned out, he didn’t have to go far. His teammates’ torches lit the black waters like a flare, and as he swam up to join them, he spotted the immense gray hull of the vessel that they had been sent down to investigate. Lurking in the blackness, like a monstrous behemoth, the U-boat almost appeared imbued with life itself. Only when they swam in closer did he spot the vessel’s rust-streaked hull and saw for certain that this object was manmade after all.
“We have the target in sight, Chief,” reported Jon.
“It appears to have settled upright on its hull, and looks to be listing a few degrees to its port side.”
“Excellent,” replied the distant voice of Magne.
“See about finding those hatches set into the base of its sail.”
“Will do, Chief,” said Jon, who swam forward almost immediately.
The two Norwegians were strong swimmers, and it took Lawton’s total effort to keep up with them.
He slowed down as he reached the sub’s hull. It appeared to be intact, and he could still make out the dozens of free-Hood holes that allowed such vessels to go from the surface to periscope depth in an unprecedented ten seconds.
It was as he reached the aft end of the sail, that a bright strobe lit the blackness forward. When this blindingly bright light repeated itself, Lawton closed in to see what it was all about. What he found in the waters ahead of him caused goosebumps to form under the black wet suit.
Positioned beside the forward portion of the conning tower, Jon Huslid had a small waterproof camera aimed toward the sail itself. As Lawton reached the photographer’s side, he turned toward the sub to see what the Norwegian found so interesting. What the Texan saw caused him to momentarily gasp, for still visible in white paint on the rust-covered steel plates was the sub’s identification number — U-3312.
“We know the old wolfs name now,” observed the photographer.
“It’s U-3312” “Got it,” replied Magne.
“While you see about getting inside, I’ll get the fellows at the Naval Ministry started on pulling up its history. You’ve got fifty-one minutes to go, gentlemen.”
Immediately below the I.D. number, Jakob could be seen struggling to open the hatch that was set into the sail’s base. While his teammate went to his aid with a crowbar, Lawton decided to give the hatch on the after end of the sail a try. The last time he had explored such a vessel was off the coast of Georgia, this same hatch had provided him an entryway, so he wasn’t really shocked when he gripped its circular iron handle and found it give with the slightest of efforts. The doorway opened in122 ward, and only after Lawton peeked into the flooded sail’s interior and spotted a clear ladder leading downward, did he go to retrieve his fellow divers.
The Norwegians were still gathered around the forward hatchway, stubbornly straining on its jammed handle with a pair of crowbars, when he arrived.