CHAPTER 57
The massive shockwave hit the Massachusetts on the port side of the bow, both lifting and twisting the sub in the water. Similar to the blast from the colliding torpedoes, the Massachusetts was violently shoved backward, slamming everyone inside into the forward bulkheads. The Massachusetts rolled to the right more than 90 degrees, tumbling everyone onto the right bulkhead. The air that had remained in the starboard ballast tanks rolled under the sub and bubbled out into the open ocean, while most of the air in the port ballast tanks remained trapped in place. The Massachusetts rolled partially back toward upright but still listed to starboard by 40 degrees. The sub began sinking by the bow.
“Blow the stern auxiliary tanks,” Jacobs ordered. “We’ve got to get more water out of the boat!”
“Blowing auxiliary tanks, Sir.”
Jacobs watched as the Massachusetts tipped further forward with more air slipping out of the main ballast tanks.
“Down angle is now 60 degrees, Sir,” the Helmsman reported. The crew of the control center now stood on the forward bulkhead rather than the deck.
“Down angle is stable at 70 degrees, Sir.”
At this angle the ballast tanks wouldn’t hold enough air to keep them from sinking. The air would all slip out into the water. Jacobs climbed over the broken tactical display and grabbed a headset off the console. “Torpedo room, con, what is your status?” There was no answer. He spoke firmly three more times while watching the depth gauge move steadily toward the red line that marked the sub’s 2400 foot crush depth. “Lieutenant Grimes, report,” he shouted into the intercom. “Lieutenant!” He was about to tear the headset off when he heard her voice.
Tiffany struggled back over to the communications console in the torpedo room and put the headset on. “Captain?”
“Yes, lieutenant, it’s me. What’s happening?”
“Sir, we can’t counter the water pressure. The torpedo room is flooding. We can’t stop it.”
“What about your crew?”
She looked around the room. Caleb Johnson was sitting against the bulkhead, blood seeping out of his mouth. Hector was unconscious on the deck a few feet away from her. The wooden plugs they had hammered into the torpedo tube door now floated on the top of the churning sea water. “Sir,” she replied, “of the ten men under my command, I see only five of them. Three of them are floating in the water, Sir, they’re face down in the water. I think they’re…”
“Lieutenant?”
“They were all working down by the torpedo tube when the shockwave hit, Sir, I should have had them back away from the door.”
“You were doing what you were supposed to do, Lieutenant.”
“Sir, Petty Officer Johnson is still alive. He’s bleeding badly. Petty Officer Hector, he… he isn’t moving.” She looked around the torpedo room once more, forcing herself to think. “Sir, what is our depth? It feels like we’re sinking,”
“We’re at 1,820 feet and going deeper.”
“Sir, with the water coming in so fast, the air pressure in the torpedo room is getting really bad. We have to get the water out of the torpedo room. I just… I…” I have to get the water out of the torpedo room, but how? She looked up at the open compressed air line that had been hissing all this time. It was now silent. The air pressure in the room is above what’s in the compressed air system, that’s why it’s not making any noise. I need more air pressure to push the water out of the torpedo room. But from where? If I can’t get the water out of the room, we’re all going to die. Then it came to her. The fear and sense of panic she was feeling faded away. It was replaced by a serene calmness and the knowledge of what she had to do.
“Lieutenant?” Jacobs said. “Lieutenant, what are you doing? Lieutenant, answer me!”
She moved slowly over to one of the work stations with the tool trays mounted against the bulkhead. “Sorry, Sir, I needed to get some tools.”
“Tools?” Jacobs asked.
She looked over at Caleb Johnson as he watched what she was doing.
“Yes, Sir,” she said. “I have to get the access panel off.”
“Lieutenant? What access panel?”
“The one over the high pressure bottles,” she said. She picked a socket from the tool tray, snapped it onto an extension and then to a ratchet handle. She began spinning the bolts out of the access panel on the side wall of the torpedo room.
“Lieutenant, those are for the main ballast tanks.”
“Yes, Sir,” she replied. “Those are the ones. Panel is off.”
“Lieutenant, that’s too much pressure. Those tanks hold 10,000 pounds per square inch of air.”
“That’s what I’m counting on, Sir,” she replied. “What is our depth now?”
“Two thousand and eighty feet.”
“I’m closing the manual valves on the tanks, Sir. Oh God. The pressure hurts so much. If I can…” She wobbled from the dizziness and the pain. I have to get the water out.
“Lieutenant?”
“I’m loosening the connector nuts. I can get to only two of the bottles, Sir, I…”
Tears flowed down her face as the pain in her head became severe. “Sir, my ears. I can’t hear you anymore. My head…” Blood began streaming out of her nose and ears. Instead of tears, blood now ran down her face. She looked at Caleb Johnson. “If I do this…”
He nodded at her. “Do it.”
She used the handle on the wrench to pry the lines free of their connectors. “Sir, the connectors are off. I just have to open…”
The extreme screeching sound of high pressure air being released screamed in Captain Jacobs’ ears. He pulled the headset off and threw it across the control center. The intense noise echoed all over the sub. She had accessed the high pressure air tanks and released the air into the torpedo room, forcing the sea water back out through the broken torpedo tube door and out the torpedo tube into the ocean. She had turned the torpedo room into a new ballast tank, giving the Massachusetts new volume and new buoyancy. Jacobs watched as the depth gauge slowed its rush to crush depth: twenty three hundred feet, twenty three twenty, forty. The sound of the high pressure air escaping faded. The tanks were running out of air. The gauge needle slowed even more: twenty three fifty, and finally settled at twenty three hundred and sixty feet. The Massachusetts hung silent and still in the ocean on the edge of its crush depth, clinging to the thin line between life and death.
CHAPTER 58
Willa watched as Chief Dolan stumbled through the scattered debris surrounding the pile that used to be the Ocean Grand Hotel. He looked badly banged up. She suddenly realized she must look as bad as he did.
“Willa?” he shouted. “Are you okay?”