Dive to Oblivion

13

The team was just assembling for breakfast, when the bell began ringing inside the ready room of Starfish House. From his wooden perch beside the dining room table, Uige was the first to respond audibly to this unexpected call.

“Dolly’s here! Awk. Dolly’s here!” animatedly squawked the parrot.

“Hello, Dolly!”

With a rush of flapping green feathers, Uige then streaked into the ready room, prompting Lisa Tanner to put down her napkin and scoot back her chair.

“I wonder if Dolly’s brought us a response from Dr. Sorkin,” she remarked while standing.

“Everyone sit tight while I go and see.”

Her four seated co-workers readily accepted this offer, and watched as Lisa followed Uige into the adjoining room. Less than a minute later she was back holding an open envelope and a single piece of paper.

“It’s a message from topside alright,” she said with a hint of disappointment.

“But it’s not from Dr. “

Lisa handed the dispatch to Pierre Lenclud, who read it while sipping a glass of Irish breakfast tea.

“We’ve been notified to be ready to accept a shipment of helium tanks this morning at 0900,” he reported.

“The rest of our requested supplies will be sent down later in the day.”

“I wonder why there’s no word from Dr. Sorkin,” remarked Ivana Petrov.

“At the very least, he should have acknowledged the receipt of our memo.”

“Maybe he hasn’t even read it yet,” offered Tomo, between bites of his waffle.

“Not Dr. Sorkin,” countered Lisa.

“If he received the envelope, he’d open it and read its contents at once.”

“I think all of us should give the man a chance to do some preliminary investigation first,” said Karl Ivar.

“I agree,” concurred Lenclud.

“After all, he’s only had twelve hours to act on our warning. Dr. Sorkin impressed me as the type who wouldn’t waste time contacting us until he had some solid information to pass on. In the meantime, we have to be patient.”

Ivana Petrov pushed away her food and impatiently voiced herself.

“Even if we do hear from him soon, I still think we should return to the bottom of the trench and catch those mini subs with Misha’s video camera.

And if the saucers aren’t still there, at least we can get close-up proof of just what it is that they’re working on.”

“No, mon amie,” returned Lenclud.

“Until we hear from Dr. Sorkin, such an excursion would be far too dangerous. Those two vessels could be involved in a clandestine military operation for all we know, and I think it’s best that we stay far away from the floor of the trench until we hear otherwise.”

Karl Ivar looked at his watch, then hurriedly chewed his last section of waffle.

“Who wants to help me convey the helium back to Hangar One?” he asked, before gulping his milk.

“I’ll give you a hand, Karl Ivar, if you’ll assist me in putting up the new wall to the fish pen,” offered Tomo.

“You’ve got yourself a deal,” replied the Norwegian, who stood, adding, “In fact. I’ll even throw in the services of Misha. We can use the saucer’s articulated manipulator arm to do most of the manual work for us.”

“Good idea,” said Tomo as he also stood and followed his muscular, blond-haired co-worker to the ready room.

This left only Pierre Lenclud and Ivana Petrov still seated at the table. They shared a moment of thoughtful silence, as Lisa began clearing the dishes.

“My instincts warn me that something is not right on the floor of the trench, Comrade,” reflected the Russian.

“The Academician Petrovsky’s commanding officer is a crafty old Communist fox, and if he’s indeed using this mission as a cover, there’s a very good chance that the members of the U.N. observer team will never know about it. Why, I wouldn’t put it beyond Admiral Valerian to intercept our dispatch to Dr. Sorkin, which means that even as we speak, he knows of our suspicions.”

“Though I seriously doubt that’s the case, mon amie, we must nevertheless be prepared for just such a possibility. And if we don’t hear from the good doctor by tomorrow this time, I’ll seriously reconsider your request to return to the floor of the trench and film this machinery that you discovered. In fact, I’ll even accompany you aboard Misha myself.”

While the occupants of Starfish House continued with their discussion, Karl Ivar and Tomo climbed down the stairs of the ready room. From the protection of the shark-proof grill, they halted a moment to survey the coral clearing before them. The only evidence of the world above was the morning sunlight that filtered down from above, illuminating the crystal water with a soft blue radiance.

It didn’t take long for the rightful occupants of this undersea realm to make themselves known. The first noticeable sea creature was a familiar, tough-looking brute, with a long tapering body and a jawful of razor sharp teeth. Uncle Albert raced past them with lightning speed, and he needed a mere second to notice that Lisa Tanner was not one of these wet-suited newcomers.

Quick to continue his patient vigil beside the kitchen porthole, the barracuda disappeared beneath one of the habitat’s telescopic legs.

It was Tomo who pointed out a moray eel in the distance.

The snakelike creature was on its way to a nearby clump of brain coral, and its undulating, four foot-long body passed right by them. In reality, it looked more menacing than it was, though its powerful jaws and sharp teeth could produce a nasty bite.

Most often, such an injury was inflicted upon a diver’s hand, as it reached into the dark recesses of a reef, accidentally provoking the eel’s anger.

A group of angel fish darted in and out of the iron bars comprising the shark proof grill. These colorful, gentle creatures seemed to be trying their best to hide themselves from a quartet of lurking snappers. A family of grunts swam by, as well as a group of squirrel fish, and a brilliantly colored, spiny-finned wrasse.

Though he was more than content to watch this never-ending procession, Karl Ivar glanced down at his waterproof watch. The luminescent hands showed it quickly approaching 9:00 a.m.” and he signaled this fact to his diving partner. Tomo nodded that he understood, and together they left the shelter of the grill and began their way towards a sand-filled clearing located on the far side of Habitat One. This was the preplanned drop-off zone for items that were either too bulky or heavy for Dolly to carry down to them.

This portion of the sea floor was located from above by means of a small, battery-powered, sonic emitter, moored to the sand at the center of the circular clearing.

When the supply ship wished to find this target, the crew could switch on the emitter with a remote control device, and this portion of the seabed was readily recognizable.

The two divers were just swimming by Habitat One when Karl Ivar spotted a disturbance topside. The objects responsible for this turbulence soon became visible as the Norwegian reached the edge of the clearing and glanced upwards.

To transfer the habitat’s breathing gases in the most efficient manner, six metal tanks filled with helium had been tied together with a nylon strap. When dropped overboard, these heavy tanks quickly went plummeting to the bottom.

As the tanks struck the sea floor near the center of the clearing, a cloud of sandy sediment rose upwards.

Quick to penetrate this milky veil, Karl Ivar pulled out his knife and cut the restraining strap. Each tank weighed over forty pounds, and he wasted no time grabbing one by the neck and carrying it off to Habitat One. With Tomo’s help, they were able to get all of the shipment stowed away in half an hour.

“It looks like we could use some fresh helium in the main compressor,” remarked Tomo as he helped his fellow-aquanaut position the last of the newly arrived tanks in Habitat One’s storage room.

“Let’s go ahead and use up what’s left of our old stock,” replied Karl Ivar.

“If you’d like, I’ll load the compressor while you get Misha ready,” offered Tomo.

“It would be great if we could get the walls of the fish pen up by lunch.”

“I don’t see why we can’t,” said the Norwegian.

“Why don’t you meet me in the hangar as soon as you’re finished here.”

Karl Ivar was surprised to find Dolly waiting for him in the pool of water of Habitat One’s access way The dolphin seemed strangely agitated, and nervously jerked its head from side to side, while calling out in short, high-pitched cries.

“What’s the matter. Dolly? Did Uncle Albert eat your breakfast again?”

The dolphin seemed to shake its head that this wasn’t the case, and made several short dives into the water below.

“I hear you. Dolly,” said Karl Ivar as he strapped on his air tanks.

“And I’m coming down to join you as soon as I can get my diving gear in order.”

Dolly impatiently waited while he spat into the inner glass plate of his face mask to keep it from fogging up, and pulled on his flippers. Then after putting the air hose in his mouth and testing the flow of the regulator, he climbed into the water and dropped into the depths below.

Dolly seemed to be relieved when he turned towards the hangar and began swimming. The dolphin made several short sprints to the hangar, to emphasize where she wanted her human companion to end up.

Having no idea what Dolly was up to, Karl Ivar passed by the large clump of brain coral that lay halfway between Habitat One and his goal. There were no sharks in the area, and remembering Ivana Petrov’s near miss with death beside this same coral clump, he followed his marine mammal escort all the way to the hangar’s access way Dolly never left his side as he climbed up the ladder and broke the water’s surface.

Long before he was able to reach up and flick on the overhead lights, he knew that something was seriously wrong here. The air had a foul, acrid stench to it, and when the lights failed to activate, he was forced to reach to a supply chest and pull out a flashlight. Then he spotted the reason for Dolly’s behavior.

The entire bottom portion of their diving saucer was blackened by scorch marks. With unbelieving eyes, Karl Ivar knew that Misha had been the victim of a fire. This smoldering blaze must have started sometime in the early hours of the morning. Only a lack of oxygen prevented it from spreading to the rest of the hangar.

With Dolly chattering away in the background, he determined that the fire had started in Misha’s battery compartment. Of course, he immediately blamed himself for this accident. Most likely, his recent work on the mini sub alternator had created an internal electrical short. This short had somehow escaped his most recent inspection of the system only last evening. And now they would have to pay the price for his incompetence.

For even with help from above, Misha’s days of exploring the depths were over.

Thomas Moore was awakened by the blaring voice of a public address announcement. He groggily fumbled for his watch, and had to do a double take upon finding it well past 10:00 a.m. Once again, the Rickover had encouraged a sound night’s sleep, and he felt almost guilty as he yanked back his curtain and planned the best way to extricate himself from his bunk.

To reach the deck, he awkwardly rolled over on his stomach and pushed himself backwards until his feet struck the floor. Still in his coveralls, he pulled his brown leather topsiders from the corner of the bunk, and unlatched the small locker to get to his shaving kit.

As he rolled back the compartment’s sliding door, a shaft of bright light hit his eyes. Two sailors dressed in blue dungarees passed, on their way aft to the crew’s mess. Moore nodded hello and directed his steps to the nearby officers’ head.

He was thankful to have this space to himself. He relieved himself at the urinal, and felt like a veteran submariner as he properly flushed it by pulling down the steel lever that opened a ball valve positioned in its stainless-steel bottom. After washing it out with a slug of water, he turned to the sink.

A hot lather machine was mounted beside the mirror, and after washing up, he spread the warm cream over his face and neck. He shaved, brushed his teeth, then headed for the shower. Ever mindful of Hop’s directions, he turned the water on until the right temperature was attained. Then he ducked inside and hastily soaked his body before halting the flow of water by pushing closed the steel pin located above the shower head. He lathered up, washed his hair, and slid open the pin, causing a torrent of tepid water to issue forth from above.

Once his shower was completed, he wiped the stall with a squeegee, stored on the wall for just this purpose.

He felt much better as he slipped back into his coveralls and shoes, and returned to his berth to stow away his shaving kit.

He had long ago missed breakfast, but knew that he could always get some coffee and cereal in the crew’s mess. Lunch would shortly be served, and the galley was empty except for the ever-present cooks and several sailors who were using the vacant tables to study.

Not wishing to disturb them, Moore filled a bowl with Rice Krispies and milk, and shoveled down this combination while standing. Then, with a mug of coffee in hand, he climbed the ladder across from the milk dispenser. This put him immediately aft of the control room, where the SINS navigational equipment was stored. The perpetually locked door to the radio room lay further aft, yet Moore headed in the opposite direction.

The control room was brightly lit, and had but a smattering of junior personnel present at its various stations. Moore stopped by the vacant navigation plot, and all too soon found out the reason for this partial watch. The topmost chart showed that they were no longer at sea, but had reached Port Canaveral, the first stop on this patrol. Anxious to check out this facility, he continued to the forward access way As he peered up the hatch, a patch of blue sky invitingly beckoned, and he readily climbed upwards.

Moore’s first impression upon reaching the deck, was that he had just emerged from the netherworld.

The fresh air was like a tonic, its warm, tropical essence rich with the scent of the sea. The sun greeted him like a long-absent friend, and he momentarily closed his eyes and angled his face upwards to absorb its rays.

He was soon brought back to reality by a loud, grinding mechanical noise. This sound emanated from the adjoining pier. Here a huge crane was in the process of lifting the DSRV Avalon from the back of a flatbed truck. The DSRV itself was almost fifty feet long, and looked like a fat, oversized torpedo. It was painted black, with a pair of thrusters cut into its rounded bow, and a large white circular shroud protecting its stern-mounted prop.

Moore joined the collection of enlisted men and officers who were gathered aft of the Rickover’s sail.

This included the captain and his XO, who anxiously orchestrated the DSRV’s placement with miniature two-way radios. The tension was thick as the crane swung its special cargo over the Rickover’s stern. A four-legged cradle had been bolted to the deck directly above the aft access trunk, and the Avalon was slowly lowered into its protective grasp. Only when the DSRV was firmly in place did the tense atmosphere lighten.

The crane’s transfer sling was detached, and while the crew gathered around the Avalon, Moore took this opportunity to go ashore.

A narrow gangway led him to the pier. It felt a bit strange to be on dry land once more. His legs were shaky, and he could have sworn that the solidly anchored dock was bobbing up and down beneath him.

It took a bit of effort, but he managed to find his land legs and walk to the far end of the pier, away from the mass of machinery and humanity gathered beside the Rickover’s stern. From this new vantage point, he was able to view yet another submarine, docked in the slip directly opposite them. Appearing to be the same size as the Rickover, this vessel had one unique design feature that set it apart from the 688 class. Its hydroplanes, instead of being mounted on the sail, were set into the hull, giving it a sleek, streamlined appearance.

“Hello, Commander,” broke a voice from behind.

Moore turned his head and identified this newcomer as the Rickover’s supply officer.

“Good morning. Hop,” replied Moore, who watched his grinning shipmate join him at the end of the pier.

“What do you think of SSN-21?” asked Hop, in reference to the sub that lay on the opposite slip.

“Do you mean to say, that’s Seawolf?” questioned Moore, while turning his gaze back to the vessel that he had been previously admiring.

“That’s her, all right,” answered Hop.

“Too bad we won’t have time to take a tour below deck. That’s where the differences between Seawolf and the previous classes are really supposed to be noticeable.

“Well I’ll be,” reflected Moore.

“To tell you the truth, I really didn’t know what class of vessel she belonged to.”

“That’s nothing to be embarrassed about. Commander.

Except for its hull-mounted hydroplanes and slightly redesigned sail, Seawolfs exterior isn’t all that different from a 688’s. But that’s as far as the similarities go. Why even its hull is formed out of a radically new type of steel that allows Seawolf to penetrate depths that we can only dream about.”

“So I understand. Hop. And if my memory serves me right, the folks back at EB sure had a hell of a time getting those hull welds up to spec.”

“That’s all part of the learning process, my friend,” said Hop, whose glance didn’t leave the prototype warship.

“I’m glad I got up in time to get topside and see all this. Hop. The way I’ve been cutting Z’s, I could have slept right through our port visit. How soon until we return to sea?”

“We’ll be setting sail as soon as Avalon is secured, which should be within the hour. Scuttlebutt has it that we’re taking the DSRV with us in case we should happen upon the Lewis and Clark stranded on the bottom.”

“Hop, I wish that were the case, but unfortunately the Avalon’s presence has nothing to do with a possible underwater rescue. Right now, all that I can really tell you is that I’ll be using the DSRV for a vastly different purpose.”

“That’s too bad,” replied the supply officer as he looked to his watch and added.

“We’d better start back for the Rickover, Commander.”

“Very well. Hop,” said Moore, who took a last glance at Seawolf before following his shipmate back down the pier.

Waiting for him alongside the Rickover’s gangway was Captain Walden and a short, barrel-chested lieutenant, with a square jaw and grey sideburns.

“Ah, Commander Moore,” welcomed Walden.

“We were just talking about you. I’d like you to meet the Avalon’s pilot. Lieutenant Barnes.” “Please call me Ned,” said the deep-voiced veteran, who was in his late forties.

Moore accepted a vice like handshake, and noted the way the pilot stared directly into his eyes as he responded.

“Pleased to meet you, Ned.”

“The captain here was just tellin’ me that you’ll be callin’ the shots aboard Avalon,” remarked Barnes.

“Where are we headin’, and what’s our mission?”

Moore hesitated a moment before guardedly replying.

“I’ll be using the Avalon to explore the depths of the Tongue of the Ocean.”

“Does this have anything to do with the search for, Lewis and Clark?” asked the pilot.

“Not directly,” returned Moore.

Sensing that Moore knew more than he was admitting, Barnes questioned Walden.

“Captain, how long is it going to take us to get to the Tongue of the Ocean?”

“We’ll be rounding the northern tip of Andros Island early tomorrow morning,” answered Walden.

“You know, I’m still curious to find out more about this operation myself. Commander.”

“All in due course, sir,” said Moore, who was saved any further explanation by the arrival of the Rickover’s XO.

Moore excused himself, and headed for the submarine’s forward access trunk. After filling his lungs with a last breath of warm, tropical air, he climbed down into the vessel’s cool, darkened interior.

To sort out his thoughts, he proceeded straight for his berth. This was the only portion of the crowded ship that could guarantee him any semblance of privacy.

His pledge of secrecy had put him in a most awkward position, and as far as he was concerned, they couldn’t get to the waters of the Andros Trench fast enough.

It had all sounded simple enough when Admiral Proctor had explained his mission back in Washington.

But now that other people were involved, it was getting much more complicated.

How could he tell his current shipmates that he still didn’t know exactly what he was looking for? Like a confusing jigsaw puzzle, the mystery that he had been asked to solve would take both patience and an extreme amount of focused concentration. He would also need an open mind to sort out the facts in a case that pushed beyond ordinary conditions of reality.

From the shelter of his bunk, Moore was able to go over the facts as he knew them. He recalled the first time he laid eyes on the Lewis and Clark, and the moment they cracked open the hatch and climbed inside.

He would never forget the discovery of the redheaded seaman, and the amazing tale he told while under hypnosis.

Proof that the Lewis and Clark had begun its tragic voyage in the Atlantic, lay in the boat’s log, and the sargassum that Moore had pulled from the sub’s sail.

Yet many questions remained — how had the vessel travelled halfway around the world in a virtual blink of an eye? And what happened to the rest of its crew along the way?

And then there was the Philadelphia Experiment to consider. The theory behind this legendary project provided the most logical explanation of all. The explanation gained credence since Moore knew that Russia’s equivalent of Albert Einstein currently waited for them in the waters above the Andros Trench.

Had Seaman Homer Morgan indeed been saved by a cover of water, as appeared to be the case with the USS Eldridge’s sole survivor? This would mean that the devices that caused their warships to de materialize had been very real ones, and that one of them actually waited for Moore off the coast of Andros Island.

Chilled by this realization, Moore readied himself for the coming confrontation. In less than twenty-four hours, his time for supposition would be over. Reality would then rule the day, in his quest for the solution to this perplexing mystery.