Pacino’s fingers traced the cold metal of the sail trailing edge and he swam deeper into the sea until the sail ended on the surface of the deck. Again he checked for Paully, who was behind him, then put his hands on the surface of the deck. The ship felt mushy, foamy, the rubbery tiles of the acoustic absorption material making the surface less able to reflect the sound waves of an active sonar pulse from a surface ship. He made his way aft, beginning to wonder if he had missed the hatch opening in the hull. He could see some ten feet in any direction but the surface above was not visible. There was plenty of light, but he couldn’t see distant objects, the world ending ten feet away in a blue haze. The odd visual effect combined with the floating feeling of neutral buoyancy sometimes made divers experience the same sensations of vertigo that pilots suffered. Pacino remembered the disastrous flight to the Reagan. He watched the stream of his exhaled breath, the bubbles floating upward in the same direction he had assumed it to be.
He looked back toward the sail, the structure beginning to vanish in the visual haze. Had the crew failed to open the hatch? Then he looked ahead and saw it in the haze.
He swam toward it, the hatch larger than he’d recalled, the circle of it perpendicular to the hull surface, the steel ring of the hatch some three feet in diameter. In the surface of the hull the hatch opening was a gaping maw of darkness. Pacino reached the hatch and grabbed it, motioning Paully into the interior.
On the screen the helicopter hovered overhead, the scuba-equipped inhabitants of the chopper dropping into the water, the chopper immediately turning and flying off, leaning far into the direction of flight, the aircraft’s bottom side and rotor circle all that was visible as it accelerated away. Voorheese did a surface search near them, the divers already underwater or too close.
“The XO at the hatch?” Kane asked.
“Yes sir, with the Chief of the Boat.”
“Very well. I’m going to upper level. Put the chief of the watch on the phones, and when I give him a double click have him announce the admiral onboard.”
Voorheese acknowledged and Kane left the room, climbed the forward ladder to the upper level and walked aft along the paneled passageway to the hatch to the escape trunk.
“They in yet, XO?” Kane asked his executive officer, Comdr. Leo Dobrowski, an older and more senior officer than many captains. Leo had had an extended shore tour at the War College finishing a doctorate in international relations, which had set him back, but he would be in command of his own submarine within a few months — that is, if he passed Pacino’s simulator test. Dobrowski was of medium height, in good shape, a full head of hair cut into a flattop, making him look somewhat tough. He was a serious man. In fact, the only time Kane could remember Dobrowski smiling had been at the ship’s softball and football games. Off the ship, the XO was actually funny and full of laughter. Aboard, he wore his serious expression. Kane was grateful to have him.
Paully disappeared into the darkness, his fins trailing.
Pacino followed him, lowering himself in feet first, watching the light above as he came down into the chamber of the ship’s escape trunk, a large airlock that could hold ten men. Finally Pacino’s flippers touched the deck of the bottom of the escape trunk, the circle of light seeming far above him. He looked down at shoulder-level and found the diver-control panel, put his hand on the T-lever and pushed it horizontally to the end of a track, then pulled it upward to the stop. The lever was built into the hydraulic-control valve for the hatch operating hydraulics.
The hatch came down, the circle of light being eclipsed by the dark circle of the inside of the hatch.
Pacino watched as the light vanished, the hatch clunking down on the steel of the hatch ring of the hull. As the trunk plunged into darkness, Pacino could hear the control ring rotating until the hatch was completely secured.
They were now inside the USS Barracuda, although a dark and flooded part of it.
“They’re in, sir,” Dobrowski said, looking at the status panel, the red circle labeled as the upper hatch changed to a green bar, indicating the hatch was now shut.
“Draining down now.”
Kane waited for the lower hatch to open, turned and instructed the crew to form up behind him. He’d be damned if an admiral would come aboard without a regulation greeting. He picked up the phone to control.
“Chief of the Watch? Get ready to make the announcement.
I’ll click when he steps into the upper level.”
